


The Doctor, the Witch and the Consulting Detective

by lmirandas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Auror Case Fic, But not that much, Eventual Parentlock, Fluff, Go Puddlemere United, Harry Potter Crossover - Freeform, John trained as a healer, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Roulette, Mentions of Hogwarts and Ilvermony Houses, Multi, My First Fanfic, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mystery, Post TAB AU, Post-Season/Series 03A AU, Potterlock, Quidditch Mentions, Sherlock is a Potion Master, Victor is nice in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 72,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6240169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmirandas/pseuds/lmirandas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is an extremely patient man. But after Sherlock's overdose attempt and with Moriarty's threat hanging over their heads, he looks for answer in a world he left for good a long time ago. Diagon Alley leads him to answers, just not the ones he was looking for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first fanfic, I don't own Harry Potter or Sherlock, no brit picking or betas so any mistakes are mine and mine only.
> 
> Update: April 14th 2018, this is my project for WIP month and I've discovered lots of mistakes in the re-read, so the whole thing is going to get minor edits which hopefully will make it easier to read. This was my first ever fanfic, so I'm kind of attached to this one XD.

_January 6th, 2016, 22:00._

The warehouse was empty. She wasn't expecting this at all. Her vision showed her intended target looking over paperwork; the location was easy to pinpoint once she collected all her data. Years of training, both with MACUSA and the CIA not wasted on her, she knew he must be here. But where was he hiding?

She was too slow, but she heard the swish of robes, and just before she could reach for the wand in her long coat, a voice like a hiss resonated.

"EXPELLIARMUS!!!"

Her wand flew out of her hand and she had only a second to create a shield with a non-verbal Protego. Wandless magic could only work for so long, and as she felt her shield waver the last thing she saw were two cold grey eyes staring at her, head just appearing from an Invisibility Cloak.

"Stupefy!!!"

Everything was just darkness after that.


	2. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first ever fanfic. Got an idea and rode with it. No brit picking, no beta, so any mistakes are mine and mine only.
> 
> Note update 4/12/2018: I'm giving this fic some love after a couple of years, so expect changes in formatting, grammar, not plot though.

_January 4th, 2016. 9:00._

Flourish and Blotts was almost empty, as he expected on the first Monday of January. No kids buying magical textbooks, no parents fussing over parchment lists. He was standing on a corner, book in his hands, " _Death and the afterlife: Magical Means_ " by Adalisius Rogue, when someone absently bumped into him.

"Excuse me", a deep baritone voice said, a sound he would recognise anywhere, which he did not expect to hear there.

John Watson lifted his head so fast he almost gave himself whiplash, just in time to see the back of a man wearing grey wizarding robes, and a mop of messy dark curls walking away from him.

"Oi! Sherlock!"

The figure turned, and he indeed was not hallucinating, because in front of him, in wizarding robes, was no other than Sherlock Holmes. His face was one of extreme shock and fear, yes, fear that brought the memory of the Baskerville case. That calm mask quickly replaced it, the one he knew the detective reserved for hiding emotions. John himself was wearing dark blue wizarding robes, and he was steaming with anger and shock when his friend approached him.

"That colour suits you John, it brings out the colour of your eyes. A better fashion statement than those hideous jumpers you usually wear and better than growing a moustache."  
"You, you are a wizard?"  
"Obviously. I wouldn't be wandering in wizard clothing, in a magical street and a magical bookstore if I was a muggle. You are one too, and how that fact has seemed to elude my mind for years is one that is bothering me right now. You remember how I despise ignorance."

And with that, John punched him in the face and jumped over him.

* * *

 

Two shop attendants separated them, and after being thrown out on the street, it was Sherlock who spoke again.

"Leaky Cauldron. I believe you have questions, and I want some answers."

He started walking and left John boiling, with his left-hand twitching, before he caught one more breath, sighed, and followed the taller man.

The Leaky Cauldron proved to be as empty as the hidden streets behind it. The old barkeep and owner Tom had long since retired, and a new wizarding family had bought the pub. They tried to keep the pub with its classic look and made few changes, but most of them were in the guest rooms upstairs. The pub itself looked exactly as the last time John saw it. He shivered, he hadn't given a proper look when he came through it, with a sense of purpose, walking straight into the back alley. Memories came back, flooding, and a wave of nausea joining them. He rubbed his temples and pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes and saw that piercing stare, pale blue eyes of the most brilliant mind he knew.

"Interesting. But perhaps it's better if you start asking questions first."

They sat on a table, and the new owner, a man John only knew by name, Zacharias Smith, approached them.

"Anything I can help you with, gentlemen?"  
"Yes, two Firewhiskeys. Thank you, Mr Smith."  
"All the patrons call me Zack, travelling from abroad?"  
"No actually not, as you must have noticed when I used your surname."  
"Sherlock, be nice. Thanks, Zack."

Smith gave John a warm smile, and soon two drinks appeared in front of them.

"I hope you don't mind me ordering for you. I thought this conversation required something stronger than pumpkin juice."

John took his drink and felt the heat going down his throat. His first Firewhiskey in 18 years.

"So, you are a wizard?"  
"I thought we had established that before you had us thrown out of the bookstore."  
"But how?"  
"Well wizarding reproduction is very much like muggle reproduction John, I don't think I have to explain you how. You are a doctor. Are you?"

John started to feel angry again. He heard the tone of doubt and betrayal in Sherlock's voice. God knows he was used to his own when speaking to his mad friend.

"Yes, I am a doctor, and I was a soldier. I also happen to be a wizard. Come on, deduce away, you have a new fact now, work your magic."  
"Deduction is not magic; it is science, it is observation, as you know John because you at least are experienced in one of them."  
"Well, I'm not saying one more word before you, so either you observe something now or start telling your own story."

Sherlock glared at him for a second, then collected himself and started a rapid rant.

"Wizard, living among muggles, been away from the magical world for a long time now. Probably a traumatic event, suggesting by your reaction when entering this pub. Robes are old, and they don't fit like they used to. Muggleborn, going by the fact that you adapted and thrived in the muggle world, even becoming a doctor and a captain in the army. You never wanted to come back, never regretted leaving until something recent caused you to worry. You were reading a book when I saw you, _Death and the Afterlife_ , boring book, so it was the threat of Moriarty coming back that made you come back, even after I assured you he is dead."

John swallowed and licked his lips.

"Brilliant, if I must say it."  
"I thought you were not speaking to me."  
"I'm not. You need to tell me your side of the story. Tell me, and I will complete mine for you."

The world's only consulting detective, probably also in the wizarding world, sat quietly across him. His face, all cheekbones and pallor, had a frown on it. He looked back at John, opened his mouth just to close it a second after. Then he moved to a chair next to John, turned it to face him and placed his hands folded on his lap.

"Well, if I must."


	3. The Detective's Tale

"I'm a wizard, a half-blood. My mother, the brilliant mathematician, is also a witch. My father is a muggle. My mom fell in love with him at Uni, which she attended after Hogwarts. She was not very fond of the wizarding world, had many friends and family members killed in Voldemort's first attempt to take over. Many of them fled to France at that time, her family name is Greengrass, and some of them were on Voldemort's ranks. But her mother was a Weasley, so they had people on both sides of the war. After that, she decided to test her luck in the muggle world, and she and one other cousin on the Weasley branch of the family were the first ones to pursue anything outside the magical realm. I believe he is an accountant and the black sheep of the Weasley family."

He chuckled a little and John could see he was enjoying telling this story; he was enjoying talking about his family history, letting John in after all this time. His eyes were bright, and he looked like he was retelling a particularly interesting cold case instead of facts about himself.

"She never told my father she was a witch until Mycroft was born. She hoped he would be born without magic, but she was a Pureblood from two of the oldest magic yielding families in Britain, so when Mycroft was eleven, he received the letter and mother told him what he was. Both of us produced both various amounts of tricks and little magic shenanigans when we were children, but mother only revealed what she was to my brother when he turned eleven, and an owl appeared on our kitchen window. I was four years old at the time. Mummy rarely used magic around the house before that, and after that, for all that matters."

John coughed over his glass and exclaimed

"Mycroft is a Wizard?? Well, I shouldn't be surprised, somehow it fits. He knows about me for sure. Works for the Ministry of Magic? Mmm, Mycroft has the Weasley's hair, I should have noticed."  
"Yes, yes, he is not a squib, even if I tell him so twice a day. He works for both the British Muggle government and the Ministry of Magic. He started as a junior unspeakable and worked his way up the Department of Mysteries at a very young age. He was 23 when Voldemort took over the Ministry, and both sides decorated him, muggle and magical, after taking Kingsley Shacklebolt's post guarding the Muggle prime minister and the Queen during Voldemort's uprise. I believe he has an Order of Merlin, second class and a Distinguished Service Order for that. Why do you think he always carries that blasted umbrella of his? The handle is his wand."  
"Wait, wait, Mycroft is only a couple of years older than me. I don't remember him from Hogwarts."  
"I don't think you would remember older members of your rival house, especially if they didn't play Quidditch."  
"Mycroft was in Slytherin? Yes, of course, he was, he's such a git. Wait, how do you know which house I was in? And I would have remembered you if I saw you at Hogwarts."

He said that without thinking, believing it. He would have remembered Sherlock's face among a sea of faces, even if he only saw him passing by. Even after all these years, all the heartbreak and denial, he had to admit at least to himself his infatuation for the man sitting beside him. He couldn't imagine being so close to Sherlock and not noticing him. Sherlock smiled, a knowing smile that made John blush after his statement, thinking he could see right through him.

"You, my friend, are the quintessential Gryffindor, you could be a poster boy for the house values if Harry Potter weren't the most famous wizard from this century that house produced."  
"Ta, Sherlock. My house did produce a fair share of war heroes in this century. I was in the same class as one of your Weasley cousins."  
"Distant relations."  
"Well, I was in the same class of one your distant relations, Percy Weasley."  
"He is one of Mycroft's only friends; I hate the obnoxious twat."  
"Mycroft has friends? Now that surprises me."

They started laughing, started as a nervous chuckle until it transformed into full-blown laughter.

"This is worse than laughing at a crime scene. I heard Percy was a little better nowadays, though."  
"He still invites Mycroft regularly to dinner, so he is not my favourite person. His daughter Molly is my brother's goddaughter."

John started laughing again, and Sherlock looked at him and smiled. Then his face changed, morphed to the sour look he reserved for his brother only.

"But you are right about something, John, he knows about you being a wizard, he probably knows everything there is to know about you, from both worlds. I'm going to curse him in his sleep if I ever get my wand privileges back."  
"So you don't have a wand? How did you get into Diagon Alley?"  
"Typical John, so unexpected, instead of asking me why I'm not currently in possession of my wand or even asking if it still exists and wasn't snapped in half by Ministry officials, you choose to ask me how I tapped the bricks in the back of the pub?"  
"I hoped the rest would come along with your story."  
"Well, your question has an easy answer, Mycroft opened the entrance for me, then he disapparated back to work."  
"And the rest?"  
"Well, you didn't notice me at Hogwarts, that is for sure, nor I remember you. I was only a student there for half a year before my mother sent me to live with my grandmother in France."

John was shocked to hear that his friend had been so close, so near from him at that time. He tried to remember every sorting from all his years at Hogwarts, and he couldn't remember a boy who looked even remotely like Sherlock.

"You started Hogwarts in 1992?"  
"Yes, outstanding, you at least remember how old I am."  
"That was the year the Chamber of Secrets opened."  
"Exactly. Mycroft had left the school that year, so it was only me. I was eleven, and I remember those months at Hogwarts as the happiest from my childhood. Professor Snape liked me from the start, which was not that rare, he loved my brother, he was a Prefect and one of his most cherished pupils. But I think he saw in me something different, kind of a kindred spirit. I was brilliant in potions from day one, and since I was reticent and never talked much, he never disliked me as much as he did some of his other brilliant students, like Hermione Granger-Weasley."

John snorted at his friend's lack of humility.

"I can see it, the genius kid and the creepy Potions master. Snape scared the living daylights out of me. I barely scraped the required grade for the N.E.W.T. class the year before that, and I believe McGonagall had something to do with that. I was a natural in Transfiguration."  
"Can I see your wand?"

John pulled the thin wooden stick out of his robes and without a second thought placed it his friend's stretched palm.

"Eleven inches, and... Rowan?"  
"Yes."  
"Ollivander's? Yes, you are British and a Muggleborn. What core? I would guess dragon heartstring. You, of all people, with a Rowan wand."

John tried to remember what little he knew about wandlore, something to do with duels? All his magical knowledge seemed so far deep in his memory. As always, his friend finished his unspoken thoughts, handing back the wand to its owner.

"Rowan wands, never wielded by dark wizards, wands for protection and protection spells. The ideal wand for you John. With a powerful core, much like the man who uses it."

John emptied his glass at the compliment and signalled for a refill, his glass magically filling itself as he tapped it with his wand.

"I hope you'll get to see my wand someday, but I assure you'll be surprised."  
"What type is it? Ollivander's?"  
"Yes, yes, I'm British, even though I finished my Magical education at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. You can guess why?"  
"Chamber opened. Your mum panicked and sent you to France. Many kids were taken out of Hogwarts that year. My parents never knew students were under attack, specially Muggleborns, or they would have pulled me out too."

John suddenly remembered something and gasped.

"It was my sixth year! I missed the sorting that year! I was snogging with Alicia Spinnet before the feast started and Snape gave us both detention!!! He was waiting outside the Great Hall, the slimy git, probably waiting for Harry. Both him and Ron crashed a car into the Whomping Willow that day, and he caught them unaware. We were sent to McGonagall's office and came down when they were finishing the sorting with Ginny Weasley."  
"Did they called you Four Houses Watson those days? I believe it sounds a lot better than Three Continents Watson."

John continued to chuckle, and he felt light inside. Of course, he missed Sherlock's sorting. His mind was sure that he would have remembered him, as unlikely as that was. He felt strangely connected to the genius and refused to imagine a moment when Sherlock was in front of the whole school and he, John Watson, would have missed seeing him, would have failed to recognise someone special, however distant their future laid ahead.

"Three houses. I never stomached snogging a Slytherin. You, Ravenclaw?"  
"Obviously. I even managed to make a friend. My only magical friend in Britain, by the way, we lost touch after I transferred, but I heard she made quite a name for herself. She was part of Dumbledore's Army, and is now one of Harry Potter's closest friends."  
"You were friends with Loony Lovegood?"  
"Luna. That is cruel John; I expected better from you."  
"Sorry, old habits. Luna was funny growing up. I helped her find some of her missing things that year when the term ended. People were often mean to her, but in her final years at Hogwarts, I heard she was thrilled of being there. She is a magizoologist now, married to some Scamander bloke, a Hufflepuff. You never tried to contact her when you came back to England?"  
"No, I thought she would not remember me."

And there was a sad look on his face, and John could see that kid, that shy kid that he never knew.

"Anyway, I started on the second term at Beauxbatons, and from that day until my sixth year I kept to myself. For those first six years at the Academy, I never made a single friend."

The mask was already back on, and only John, with all his knowledge of the man before him, could detect the smallest hint of hurt in his tone. Sherlock stopped talking, and John had to prompt him to continue.

"So what happened on your sixth year?"

At that Sherlock's face lit as if he found a triple murder in a locked room.

"I made my very first friends at Beauxbatons. Well, a friend and an ex, if that counts."

At that, John lifted one eyebrow in surprise, but before he could say anything, Sherlock resumed his story.

"Alissa and Victor were both exchange students, and you see, we clicked together from the beginning. I was the only British student in my year, and even though many students were foreign, the French ones never liked the know-it-all Englishman, that is what they called me when they were feeling benign. Both Alissa and Victor were there only for a year from Ilvermorny, and well, Victor was British, and Alissa was American, so we talked to each other in English while the rest of the student body only talked French in school. People hated our guts. Well, they hated Victor and me, Alissa just stuck with us through all. She could have made more friends if she had left us to our own devices. You see, Victor is a prick, and he was, still is, a very handsome man, but he was sometimes cruel and had a very dark sense of humour. I barely escaped expulsion five times that year. Alissa saved our arses every time, pleading with Madame Maxime, begging for another opportunity. And the Headmistress didn't want to expel the children of MACUSA representatives that were in her school only for one year and one of her most gifted students. I think she was happy I finally had some friends, even if we got into trouble every other day."

John was taking every word and processing; this was the most he had ever heard about Sherlock's past. He had never mentioned having any friends before him and had never acknowledged being in any romantic relationship ever. The doctor was aching to ask which one of them was the friend and which one the ex and put an end to his question about his friend's sexual orientation, but the man didn't want to interrupt his sudden insight into his friend's past. John was not gay, as he always said, but no one had ever asked him if he was other than straight directly. Even at Hogwarts, he had experimented a bit, with his best friend back then, Oliver Wood. People knew they had something going on back then, even though they were discreet and never took things further than snogging and some awkward petting, it was weird for him, because they were close friends, almost like family, which made the whole thing a terrible idea. But he had never told anything about that to Sherlock either. He guessed he could explain away this lack of sharing between Sherlock and himself because they both thought the other was a muggle. And, no matter how good their friendship was, they had never been something more.

Despite what everybody thought, despite what he felt or still feels sometimes, they had never been anything more to each other than friends, never boyfriends, in John's brain too stupid a word for men their age, or lovers. Even if he had to admit, at least to himself, sometimes a more than conscious desire that things were different for them when he wished that things were less complicated, no third parties involved, no hearts beside their own at risk. And because marriage or the intent of marriage was required to breach the International Statute of Secrecy, he never told his friend anything about his life before leaving the magical world. Even his wife, his wife now pregnant with a possible magical child, didn't know. He planned to tell Mary if and only if the child showed any sign of Magic. There was more than one reason he never asked for the license to inform a partner from the Ministry. One, he didn't trust his wife and second, he didn't want to step back into the Magical world in the first place. But fear for Sherlock's life, losing him again, had been enough motivation.

"Anyway, they were only there for a year and even though we kept in touch, my seventh year at Beauxbatons was the most miserable of all, because before I did not know what I was missing. I was already well in the way of becoming a Potions Master at the time, and well, I experimented a bit with mood enhancing potions."  
"Mood enhancing potions? I never heard of such a thing."  
"I invented them myself. When I left Beauxbatons, I was seventeen, on my way back to England, without a single friend, better yet, without acquaintances in the magical world. I enroled at Uni and went for Chemistry, trying to achieve a better knowledge of potions by mixing muggle science and my magic."

Suddenly something clicked in John's mind, and he realised what Sherlock must have done.

"Sherlock, did you mix illegal muggle drugs as part of your potion ingredients? Are you telling me you became a bloody wizarding meth cooker????"  
"Terrific, John. Never meth though, cocaine was part of some of the mixtures. Naturally, the Ministry of Magic caught on with my work finally, and I barely avoided an Azkaban sentence. The wizarding community was just starting to pick the pieces after the downfall of Voldemort's regime, and I think that, and my meddling brother being a war hero and all, was the only explanation of how I managed to stay free. They released me into his guardianship, and he kept my wand instead of snapping it in half. He made me go through muggle rehab. He even threatened to lock me up in one of St. Mungo's closed wards. By then I was already on a downward spiral, but I kept with my coursework and finished my muggle degree. Alissa came to live with me in London at that time; she almost got me clean. But I resented her ability to continue walking in both worlds. I continued bouncing in and out of rehab, getting clean for a while and then relapsing. You see, the only way I can get back my wand is by being completely clean. Mycroft made a complex spell up, a charm that tells makes me tell him what and when I use, even if I don't want to reveal it."

So that was the list then. A compulsion spell. John knew that Sherlock volunteering information to his brother was fishy at least, and a detailed list and dosages more so. At least, it was protecting his friend from his self-destructive nature. But what bothered John the most was hearing Sherlock said Alissa almost got him clean, when he felt like a failure on that front. He didn't even notice Sherlock was high when they stammered their goodbyes at the tarmac at the airport before he thought he was leaving and came back after a couple of minutes on his brother's summons. Alissa. Sherlock's ex. It had to be her.

"I've never been completely clean in the past ten years, so naturally I've never had my wand back with me. Yours is the first wand I touch in a year."  
"A year?"

Sherlock grimaced, and John knew he was not going to like what came next.

"After you fell? You had wizarding contacts after you fell?"  
"Victor and Alissa. They helped me fall."

John had never wanted to curse two strangers so badly.

"You never asked for an explanation, when I fell. You never asked, and I only could tell you part of it anyway. Magic was involved in half of it; the jump was real. Alissa placed an _Arresto Momentum_ on me as I fell. Victor's abilities came in handy at that moment. Molly provided a corpse, and Victor made a complex _Metamorphus_ spell to make it look like me. Transfiguration and all the variants of the craft are his forte. He is a Metamorphmagus, and he was the cyclist who confounded you before you checked on me."

John was holding his breath, his hands shaking in anger.

"When I touched the ground, there was a portkey waiting for me to take me to Baker Street. I got rid of the assassin lurking after Mrs Hudson and left Alissa and Victor to handle the rest, with the help of my brother. Victor eliminated the one set on you, Mycroft dealt with the one after Lestrade himself, and Alissa obliviated the rest of the participants, every member of the homeless network, every passing muggle, even Molly."

This was the first time John let Sherlock tell that story; he never wanted to hear the logistics of his fall. He knew he was in danger at the time, Sherlock had hinted something, but this was the first time he heard Greg and Mrs Hudson received direct threats. John was secretly glad he kept his questions to himself because he now knew he would have listened to an elaborate lie instead of the whole truth. That somehow made it all a little better, knowing Sherlock thought that, because John was a muggle, his best friend could never be a part of his magical escape. But still, he felt deeply hurt and jealous even, that Sherlock was able to completely confide in two others, two unknown figures that were important enough to be a part of it while John was out of the loop and mourning his best friend. As always, completing his thoughts, Sherlock continued his tale in a sad tone.

"Now you know why I thought, well, why you were not recruited to help. To think I might have... Well, it is too late for that. And Alissa was the reason I did not contact you for those two years, even though I almost made contact with you a couple of times, I was tempted to text you or something."

John was starting to despise that witch. Even Irene Adler naked before Sherlock had been less irritating than his friend admitting to him he ran off after a woman and left him talking to an empty grave. Sherlock was staring at John, with a piercing gaze that dawned on comprehension.

"I think you are getting the wrong picture. Alissa only wanted to spare your life. You see, Alissa is a gifted Seer. Sometimes she gets visions, sometimes she gets prophecies, like the ancient Greek oracles. She had one vision of me mourning you, and a prophecy that I could only come back when my blood called back to me. Both her and Victor helped me track and eliminate Moriarty's network, and we separated pursuing three different leads, Alissa in Russia and the US, Victor in Spain and I headed out for Poland and Serbia after. I was in Serbia under torture when my dear brother came to fetch me, my blood calling back to me indeed."

Sherlock shook his head and uttered a derisive snort.

"The rest, you know."

John tried to process all the new information he had. They slipped into a comfortable silence for a while. Sherlock drank, making a face each time the whiskey touched his lips.

"Thank you."

At this, Sherlock looked up, his face was open, the surprise evident even behind the usual facade.

"That was good. Now, mine is a little less complicated."


	4. Doctor, Soldier, Wizard

"So, I'll start at the beginning, I guess. I never told you much about my childhood. I grew up in Chelmsford, as you know, my dad worked at the post office, and my mom taught first form. Harry is two years older than me, and she never showed any magical signs at all. My mum told me she knew something was off with me since I was a baby, rattles and toys appearing in my crib after she placed them off the nightstand, and the mobile over my cot moving even when there was no wind. I think one time I made Harry's homework shrink when I was five. No one in any side of my family had ever shown any signs of magic before, but then my father's mother never knew her father, he could have been a wizard for all we know, that was something I never found out nor pursued any further. When I was seven, I fell off a tree at school and got to the floor without a single scratch on me. My mother decided it would be better to homeschool me then; she didn't want any questions asked that she couldn't answer. Even with schoolwork at home, it was easy for me to make friends with the kids in the neighbourhood and after that particular tree incident, nothing happened until my eleventh birthday. That day the owl arrived. It came to the kitchen; no one was there except my mom, so she took the parchment from the owl's leg, read it and kept it all to herself. The next day, Professor McGonagall and a Ministry official came to my door. My mom and dad had lots of reservations; they were terrified and unbelieving when they told them their youngest was a wizard. My dad even tried to kick them out of the house. It was McGonagall who got to them in the end. She practically assured my mother she would be responsible for my well being while at school. In the end, they agreed they would let her accompany my mom and me to Diagon Alley. I was there through the whole conversation and never let a word out until she said 'Goodbye Mr Watson', addressing me directly for the first time. 'Ma'am', was all I managed that time. After they left, my parents sent me to my room, and I could hear the heated argument from upstairs. The words 'freak school' and 'dangerous' came out from my dad's mouth a couple of times, growing increasingly louder each time. In the end, my mother won the battle, and the next day we went with the Professor into the Leaky Cauldron and the Magical World."

Sherlock was quiet through the whole thing, and John knew that look, storing and gathering data, sometimes he even wondered how much space Sherlock had for him on his Mind Palace.

"The first look at Diagon Alley, my mum passed out. The Professor placed her in a chair, smelling salts and all like a Victorian Lady, and when she came to her senses, she looked terrified. She looked at me, at the Professor, and, the look on her face, Sherlock. Fear. She looked at her son with fear. She asked McGonagall if she could take me to get my books and supplies for school. She'd rather trust her son to a complete stranger, a woman she only saw once in her life before, than face the unknown."  
"No wonder you have trust issues, John."

He could see sympathy in Sherlock's face, a rare sight.

"Well, yes. I believe I lost my mum for the first time that day. The Professor was stern but incredibly warm from that moment on. We bought supplies, she even helped exchange my muggle money and covered the rest of the tabs for me when it ran out. She bought me my first pet that day, a beautiful barn owl that I named Artemis, and she smiled and told me that her first name was Minerva. I loved mythology, and I always found the name quite fitting for such a wise Dame. She told me she would keep the owl waiting for me at Hogwarts; I guess she didn't want to scare the rest of the living breath out of my mother by letting me take the owl home with me. She took me to buy my wand and waited patiently while Mr Ollivander sorted through different wands until mine chose me. Chose me. A magical item decided I was the best match for it. That was the moment I started believing I was exactly what they told me I was."

Sherlock moved in his seat, extended his hand as to touch John's, then seemed to think better about it and left his hand, palm facing down, on the table in the space between them. John saw the movement, cleared his throat and continued talking.

"Those days until September the first were hard. My parents tiptoed around me, murmuring to themselves when they thought I was not looking. The only one who was excited and elated for me was Harry, go figure. My sister told me she knew I was something special from the first time she saw me, mind, the girl was only two, but Harry was supportive and loving to me, and she, being a pre-teen with a lot of anguish about her sexual orientation, made that even more incredible. She made me tell her everything about the Alley, made me show her my books and was adamant to see me off to King's Cross when term started. My parent's left me before we even got to the wall between the platforms. Harry took me to the wall and waited till a wizarding family with two kids was standing next to us. The mother smiled, and Harry took her cue and told her she was waiting for someone to take her little brother to Platform 9 and three quarters. She kissed my head (she was taller than me at the moment) and waved as the nice witch lady helped both her sons and me through the wall. At that moment I made my first wizarding friends, Luke and Oliver Wood, Oliver was starting Hogwarts that year, and his older brother Luke was a third year Hufflepuff. We got into the Scarlet Engine, and my first journey to Hogwarts began."  
"You saw your benefactor as soon as you got to the entrance in front of the Great Hall I presume?"  
"Yes, I was shocked to see that the kind lady who treated me like a son was someone so important. She lead us into the Great Hall, and I believe she looked kind of smug when the Hat declared I was Gryffindor material like she knew that would happen all along." He chuckled happily at the memory. "She found a way for me to write home without causing distress to my parents, she took my letters herself to a nearby muggle post office every time and picked up any letters I might have. Only Harry wrote to me, though."  
"I think I'm starting to like your sister a little more."  
"Wait 'til the end of the story, and you'll see why I haven't given up on her yet. Well, the school was great, I was thrilled, those years at Hogwarts, excepting my time with you, were the best years of my life. Oliver and me, we were thick as thieves from day one, Watson and Wood, sorted one after the other, and in the same house no less. We tried out for Quidditch in our second year, and both of us made the house team. We played jokes on Percy; we found secret tunnels out of Hogwarts, we even roamed the Forbidden Forest at night and never were caught with a toe out of the line. I had a nasty fall off my broom on a Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match on my fourth year and decided to leave my place in the team. I think Oliver felt kinda betrayed."  
"Beater."  
"Sorry?"  
"You were a beater on your house team. Protective instincts, violent behaviour? A match made in heaven."  
"Ahhh, yes, I was a beater on my house team, but you never got to see me play right? I don't know if you ever came to a Quidditch match those months at Hogwarts, but the Weasley twins were already on the House team the year you started. Those two were better than me, Oliver used to say they were like a couple of bludgers themselves just to spite me."  
"Quidditch, not really my area."  
"Yes, I figured."  
"I was in Flitwick's choir though; he loved my voice."

John laughed, something the charms master and him shared, then. But he didn't think the voice had the same effect on the tiny professor that it had on him.

"Luna loved the matches, and so I went with her. I don't even remember who was on my house team. I remember the Weasley twins though; they were hilarious."  
"Oh yes, they were a hoot those boys. Oliver and me, we always complained we got stuck with Percy in our room, but then, at least we managed to get sleep. Those twins were forces of nature, both of them whirlwinds. I could never imagine one without the other. I was shocked to hear Fred was one of the fallen in the Battle of Hogwarts. I can't imagine what George felt. Well, I almost can, but no, different context."

Sherlock knew exactly what he was thinking as always, and he saw something a little like regret in his face.

"I never knew one of the twins died in the Battle. There were many casualties in that war, and I never read the accounts written after, not that I would have recognised many names. I was at the Academy, and I know Madame Maxime worked as kind of a link to the giants in the war, but the only one I heard something about after was Fleur Delacour."  
"Bill Weasley's wife, yeah, she fought in the battle. Decorated hero."  
"Yes, and Beauxbatons alumni. She got decorated by the French Ministry too. Her sister Gabrielle was younger than me, she was in her first year when I was on my fifth, but after school, she became one of Alissa's close friends. She works for the French Ministry of Magic, and has done undercover work in collaboration with MACUSA more than once."  
"They say the Delacour women are a sight to behold. I never met any of them, though, was already out of school when they did the Triwizard. I would have loved to watch, but healer training wouldn't let me have a second leave after the Quidditch World cup."  
"You went to that Cup? The one with all the Death Eater activity?"  
"Nah. Just a bunch of posers in Death Eater robes. They probably were the real thing, but they fled the moment their old boss's mark appeared in the sky. Oliver and me, we tried to help the muggles who were hoisted up in the sky, many of the Healers were there so I tried to help as much as I could too."  
"Quite the double act then, you and Mr Wood?"

If John didn't know any better, he might think there was a little jealousy in that last statement.

"Well, not everybody can be part of a Golden Trio."

And Sherlock's mouth transformed into a hard line.

"That is what they call Potter, Granger and Weasley nowadays, I heard today. Did you ever meet any of them at school, Sherlock? I liked Ron; he was a little dimwitted sometimes, but better than Percy. I always thought Harry had the worst luck ever."  
"No, but Potter is the Head of the Auror office, so he is sometimes with my brother these days. I've never been around both of them though, exile and all..."  
"Drama queen."

But John was smiling, the big smile that reached his eyes that he reserved for Sherlock.

"Weasley was an Auror, but left the office a few years ago, to do what I don't know or care. Granger is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, higher than Potter, his boss actually. Same level as my brother. My brother is the Head of the Department of Mysteries."  
"Unspeakable, yes, people don't know what they do, right?"  
"Right."  
"Your brother's boss is the Minister himself."  
"Yes, like in the muggle government he is the Ministry, well, him and Granger. She was never happy with my brother's arrangement for me. When she took office, she wanted to interview me herself, and get rid of my wand, but Mycroft somehow changed her mind."  
"I sincerely don't want to know how."

Sherlock was silent then and motioned his hands as to tell John to go on.

"Oh, yes, well, I never went back home on Easter and Christmas Holidays, only during summer break, and only till my fourth year. I spent half of the summer at Oliver's parents; they were my second family, hell, my proper family after I started school. I cried like a baby when his father died in our fifth year. They even let Harry come to their house sometimes, and I thought she had a crush for the first time, on a boy that is, when she met Luke. It turns out they were looking at the same girl from a nearby village and were betting at which one of them would get her. Boy, Harry was smug when she won."

He remembered those happy times before she started drinking and everything went to hell.

"I saw my parents less and less after the years went by. I was training as a Healer at St.Mungo's when Voldemort took the Ministry. It was a stealth job, as you sure know, but they soon started rounding up Muggle-borns and sending them to trial in front of a committee. I was at St. Mungo's when the Ministry officials came for me, but one of the members of Order of the Phoenix saved me. Remus Lupin sent a Patronus as a warning to me because Minerva McGonagall found out somehow that I was next. I managed to escape with my wand and went into hiding with another healer in training, a muggle-born named Roman Hudson. We were able to pass as muggles, and we hid right here, in London, got menial muggle jobs and hid in plain sight. I wasn't counting on them finding my parents, though."

His breath caught, and he could barely get the rest of the words out.

"Death Eaters. They murdered my parents looking for me. My parents, who always feared magic, were tortured and murdered with magic for the whereabouts of their estranged son, whom they hadn't heard a word about in more than two years. I sent a Patronus to Remus Lupin that day and joined the Order of the Phoenix. I wasn't in the Battle of Hogwarts; I joined a group that took back St. Mungo's from Voldemort's followers, and then we were sent to Hogwarts to tend after the many wounded left by the battle. I cried in public for the first time in my adult life when I saw Oliver, wounded, but alive. He wasn't as happy to see me."

John swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and he gulped more of his whiskey.

"You see, when I ran, I couldn't keep in touch, and it hurt him that I never reached out to him, or Luke, or his mother during that time. But I wasn't about to risk the only family I had besides Harry. They protected her, you know? After my parents died and I joined the Order, Tonks sent a message to Luke, and he hid my sister in his house, made her part of his own Fidelius Charm. They were a pureblood family and fought for and protected muggles. Luke died in the Battle of Hogwarts. For me, it was losing a brother. Oliver never spoke to me again after that day, not even at the funeral, when we buried all the fallen. His mother was in shock, and barely glanced when I offered my condolences." His eyes filled with unwelcome tears, the memories still too much to handle.

"After the memorial, I left for Luke's, where Harry was still in hiding, and she slapped me in the face the minute she saw me. She thought I was dead, you see. Tonks told neither Oliver nor Luke I was working for the Order, in case something happened and their position became compromised. After I told her Luke was dead, she fell on the floor and cried, stopping only after four hours and grabbing a bottle of Firewhiskey from the mantle and drinking half of it in one blow. Harry almost died, this thing" he tapped the glass in front of him "is not for muggle consumption. When my sister woke up, she asked me if things were safe now, and when I said yes she asked me to leave. I guess Harry was also there when Oliver came a few days later, she never really told me, but I know they keep in touch even know. He was the one who went to Harry and Clara's wedding, the one she wanted to give her away. When she is drunk, sometimes she tells me I'm not her 'real brother' and starts calling Oliver's name. He has even apparated in her house when I visit unannounced and disapparates immediately as soon as he sees me. Three years passed before Harry spoke to me again after Luke's death, by which I had already cut all my ties with the magical world, except for one. Once a year, on her birthday, Minerva McGonagall goes to the Muggle post office to retrieve a birthday card, and I get one through muggle post every year too. After that, I decided to enrol at Uni, I was 21, not too old for starting, and the rest after that you know or already deduced."  
"You forgave me after my fall. You forgave me when Oliver could never forgive you."  
"Yes, yes, I was sure you would see the similarities in the situations. I forgave you, because in my heart I wanted Oliver to forgive me that day, or someday. And I guess, even though you never fully explained until now, I knew you had your reasons, twisted and stupid as they might have been. I knew my own were idiotic when I wanted to leave my family out of my problem. I wanted them to be safe, as you wanted your extended family to be safe too. Merlin knows I failed my birth parents miserably; I couldn't even protect them by staying as far from them as I could. They died in the most horrible way possible for them, they feared magic and were killed by it. I overheard my father one day on my fourth-year summer break that I would be the death of them. I left that very day to Oliver's, feeling betrayed and furious. Who knew I would prove him right one day."

He lowered his face, and his eyes filled with moisture, and then he felt a tug, and a long-fingered hand grabbed his own. He lifted his face, not letting go, but squeezing the offered hand, locking eyes with Sherlock as the other man started talking.

"Your parents were murdered. Murdered by the worst kind of Wizards this country, the whole continent, in fact, had ever heard of. Even Grindelwald's terror left fewer dead and fewer muggle casualties. It was not your fault."

At that, a small sob escaped John involuntarily, and Sherlock moved his chair into his personal space, grabbed his robes and pulled him into an awkward but strong hug. John's forehead against his shoulder, arms to his side, not daring to hold his friend, but craving the contact anyway, the hand that Sherlock released twitching as he opened and closed his fist. John could smell Sherlock on the robes, and the doctor wondered how many times had the man used them without John knowing, how many times the detective was allowed into this magical world, which he, unlike John, was forced to leave behind. A minute passed that way before Sherlock finally released him, but he didn't seem to want to let go.

"That was good, what you said. Thanks."

His eyes were dry now, but he felt something different than the emptiness he usually felt when he thought about his parents' fate. It was like finally sharing this with someone, no, sharing this with Sherlock of all people, had changed something inside him.

"What are the odds, two former wizards, one traumatised, one banished, finding one another in London?"

Sherlock was about to tell him the exact number; John saw his scrunched face and predicted this was the case before he stopped him.

"I don't want to know, but seriously? It's like fate."  
"Well, you know I don't believe in coincidences. You thought I didn't believe in fate either, but after spending a lot of time with a real seer, I think there is something like fate. You and me against the world John, I meant it, and I know now that I was not wrong. But try to refrain from hitting me in the nose the next time."

At this, John laughed, and Sherlock joined him, before stopping suddenly and in a low tone, a little menacing, he said,

"Mary? Does Mary know?"  
"Ahhh, no. I was going to tell her if the baby showed any sign of magic at all. I'm muggle-born, and she is a muggle, so I hoped it never came to that."

He paused before blurting,

"I always wanted to tell you though."

Sherlock looked positively dumbfounded at that statement.

"I felt guilty when you fell. I could have stopped it, you see, but I never carry my wand with me anymore. It felt like my parents all over again. Magic failed me, or I failed magic, I failed you, and you killed yourself. I wasn't enough to save you, and I thought many times when you left that maybe if you knew I was a wizard, we could have used my magic to get you out of whatever Moriarty had planned. I thought me keeping" my feelings, John thought, but said instead "that fact to myself contributed to your death."  
"You see how pointless all that was now don't you? They would have sent you to Azkaban for breaching the International Statute of Secrecy for telling a muggle who you didn't intend to marry. They don't have best friend clauses for breaching that particular law, John. And I already had magic, even if it was not my own, at my disposal."  
"Yes, yes, the golden trio, I get that now. But then? I was miserable Sherlock, I mourned you, mourned my parents again and the life I lost before. Everything fell apart for the third time in my adult life. I don't know what I might have done without Mary at that time."

Sherlock winced at that last comment, but then the mask carefully reappeared.

"Mary is indeed a muggle?"  
"God, I hope so. I've never seen any hints of magic. You, on the other hand, I don't know how I missed it, you were always kind of magical."

Sherlock blushed at the comment, but replied coldly, voice contradicting the face.

"You think you would recognise magic? She is an assassin John, and you missed that, she might be a witch for all I know!!! I knew you were special, I felt it, but who knew you were doctor, soldier and wizard, all in one man? Clearly, I could have missed magic in Mary too."  
"Mycroft must know. He knew all about her after I revealed the existence of the flash drive to him. He knows everything that goes on, on both worlds."  
"Yes, I think we must pay a visit to my meddling sibling at work today. The magical one, of course."

He smiled mischievously.

"You have your wand; we can get in. Do you have an apparating license? Can you do side along apparition?"

And he was on his feet before John had even replied, full of manic energy, almost bouncing where he was standing.

"Yes, it's been a while, but I can do it. But wait, I wanted to ask something first. What were you doing in Diagon Alley? It had something to do with Moriarty's threat?"

Sherlock sat back down, and looked back at John before saying,

"Moriarty's dead, John. But one of us, either Victor or Alissa, probably Victor, messed something up. Someone is alive who shouldn't be, someone that I think was the second most dangerous man in the muggle world and the most dangerous in the magical one right now."

John felt himself tense, back going straight to his default military pose.

"Who is he?"

"Sebastian Moran. Moriarty's second in command. Who happens to be a rogue wizard, wanted by every Ministry of Magic in Europe and the Magical Congress of the United States."  
"Moriarty knew about the magical world?"  
"Oh yes, he knew. Sebastian even tried to bring him back to life. He almost succeeded. But we got his body back before he could finish the spell. It was a very complex piece of dark magic that included giving Moriarty a piece of his soul to call him back from the dead. He never saw me directly, and I still think he didn't know I was a wizard."  
"Are. You are still a wizard Sherlock."  
"Barely."  
"Okay, so Moran doesn't know you are a wizard?"  
"Didn't know, do keep up, John. I thought he was dead. He most definitely knows now. He was taunting me, you see. That Moriarty you and all Britain saw on the screen? Sebastian Moran on Polyjuice Potion. I'm adept at identifying telltale signs. And his Moriarty was all wrong. You see, Sebastian was in love with Jim. And, well, let's say love is a powerful motivator in a criminal mind. He hates me, John, deeply, maybe as much as he loved Jim. He told Victor all things he would do to me when he was duelling him. It seems he thought I had captured Jim's attention in more than a murderous obsession."

John's face lit with outrage, and he started shaking in anger.

"Moriarty wanted YOU, wanted you like that??" he spat.  
"Yes, I can look out for my modesty myself John, I must have you know that I'm not some damsel in distress. Anyway, Victor thought he finished him, and he was sure the body had no metamorphic magic on it. But Sebastian Moran is a very dangerous dark wizard, and I'm sure he is alive. We dismantled the muggle side of the network, I made sure of that, but with Moran alive, no one is safe."  
"Let's go see your prat of a brother."


	5. Department of Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft receives an unexpected and unwelcome visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also English is not my first language, but I couldn't write Sherlock and John in the Harry Potter Universe in Spanish, so sorry for any mistakes. Not brit picked, not betaed, just me having fun.

They left the pub through the back and found a deserted alley near Charing Cross Road perfect for apparition. John had apparated to the door of the pub, and that was his first time apparating in a very long time, side along apparition even longer. But he was confident his skills could bring both Sherlock and him near the entrance to the Ministry without splinching. Sherlock locked his arm around John's elbow and smirked, and John felt himself relax and remembered the "3 Ds" chuckling a little to himself. The smirk changed into a confused look, and before they knew it, they were at the safe apparating point near the Ministry. The employee's entrance that masqueraded as public toilets were to their left, just a street away, however, they had to walk one more street to the old telephone box that hid the visitor's entrance. Nobody looked twice at them, even though they were two very well known London men in wizarding robes at noon in the middle of their city.

"Let's ask for a different Department. No doubt Mycroft might have seen us through the CCTV, but if he has immersed himself in some magical affairs, he might ignore his muggle surveillance for a while."

"What do you suggest?"

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement, some obscure office, like Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Pretend to file a complaint or something."

They both entered the phone booth, an unusually tight space not meant for two grown men; he was facing the phone and Sherlock was plastered behind him like an over-affectionate eel. Not the time or place for those thoughts, John was trying to reel all his self-control in a chant of 'I'm a married man and expecting father' in his head.

"Pick up the receiver, John" he almost whispered in his ear.

John picked it up and dialled 62442. An eerie sounding magical voice said

_Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, name and business, please._

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, here to file a claim in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office."

_Please take this badge and attach it to the front of your robes. You must present your wand at the security desk, at the right side of the Atrium. Mr Holmes, I must inform you that your brother is waiting for you both in his office. Proceed straight into the Department of Mysteries. Have a magical day!_

The box started to sink into the ground.

"Bloody Mycroft."

"Yes, now you can see he is the same in both worlds. I guess he has my name in some magical red alert notification. We should have used a fake name for me. Well, we were going to see him anyway, but I would have preferred not to give him the advantage of preparing any strategy. Now he probably won't answer any questions, not that he would have answered them if we caught him by surprise."

They arrived at the atrium and got John's wand registered. The security wizard eyed Sherlock suspiciously when he told him he didn't have his wand with him.

"Mr Holmes, a word please."

They turned around and found a bushy-haired woman with intelligent eyes and a frown on her face. John recognised her immediately, and by the look on Sherlock's face, he wasn't the only one, only that he seemed the one happy to see her.

"Deputy Head Granger-Weasley. To what do I owe the honour of being addressed by the Head of Magical Law enforcement? I don't believe I have broken any wizarding laws recently."

"Yes, that seems correct, but I guess I don't have to remind you that it is frowned upon the wizarding community to break muggle laws as well."

Ah, so the news of Sherlock's recent indiscretion had reached the ears of one of the highest Ministry officials. Not good.

"I thought you would behave a little better, with your brother's current situation and all. At this pace..."

Then she to John was standing right beside Sherlock listening, and she turned to look at him and smiled.

"John Watson. Or should I call you Dr Watson now?"

"Nice to see you again Hermione. Long time, no see."

Her face shadowed at the memories, the last time they saw each other she was burying her future brother-in-law and friend, as he was saying farewell to Luke.

"Long time. Decided to join the ranks again?"

"Too soon to say."

At this Sherlock's eyebrows raised, looking at John surprised. He loved that he could still, after all these years startle the man, even a little.

Hermione looked at both of them, and her mouth became a thin line of disapproval.

"So are you both back living with each other? Your brother should have told me if that was the case, he needs to increase your surveillance from muggle to magical whenever you are living in close quarters with someone who has a wand, he knows that. I told your sister the same thing when she moved in with you. But I didn't know you knew Dr Watson here is a wizard. I will be having words with your brother, Mr Holmes. Lead the way."

John took in the word sister and looked at Sherlock, who was wearing his 'no feelings' mask. Did Sherlock have a sister? He was starting to unnerve himself with every unknown detail about his friend.

"Hermione, Sherlock didn't know. We just found each other lurking at Diagon Alley. You know I haven't used magic for almost 20 years now. We were going to talk to Mycroft about that now."

Her eyes softened when he looked back at John.

"I believe you, John. I still want to talk with Mycroft about this whole thing. Especially if you two are back together."  
"We don't live together anymore Hermione; I'm married to a muggle woman now, I'm having a baby."

She managed to look surprised; then Hermione seemed like she was reviewing everything she knew about him, and decided to start walking instead. Sherlock and John followed, Sherlock with his mask on, but his eyes were like laser beams on John.

They moved onto the lift, followed by a couple of paper aeroplanes. John remembered from the last time he was here that they were interdepartmental memos. Many things had indeed changed. The Fountain of Magical Brethren, which towered in the atrium the last time he set foot in that place, was removed from its spotlight. He remembered someone saying a creepy statue took its place when Voldemort took over, but now a monument with the names of all that died fighting him was on that site. He passed it without looking, not wanting to remind himself of all the losses. Sherlock was fidgeting in the small space of the lift, and Hermione kept looking at him disapprovingly.

"Department of Mysteries," said the lift's voice.

There were two black doors, and Hermione took the one on the left.

"So your brother is indeed expecting you. This door only appears when the staff is expecting someone outside the Department. It changes depending who is on the other side. Black is your brother's office directly. Most people he allows in his office appear through the Floo Network, so he knows you'll be using this way then."  
"He is surely expecting you now, Deputy Head Granger-Weasley."  
"I know. Mycroft misses nothing. Which is the reason I don't tolerate a lack of informing on his part because he does it deliberately. The man never just 'forgets' to do something. He only makes calculated decisions."

Hermione opened the door so that they could walk into a dimly lit office, the same furnishings as Mycroft's office in the British government, with a few differences. There was a tea set, serving tea on its own in a corner tea table. Mycroft was seating in a plush armchair, talking to a tall, thin man with sparse red hair. John looked at him instead of Mycroft, and the man smiled.

"John Watson. Long time, my friend."

He stood up and held his hand in the ceremonious manner that characterised him.

"Perce. It's been ages."  
"I believe we still have a couple of friends in common. Well, in my case, family."

Sherlock winced at the recognition, and stepped into the background, standing near one of the walls.

"I was just telling Myc here that I was talking about you the other day. With your sister, nonetheless. There was a friendly game between the Harpies and Puddlemere United the other day, and there she was, decked from head to toe in Puddlemere gear. I recognised her, and when she saw me approaching her, she beamed at me and started talking about you. I believe congratulations are in order. When is your wife due?"

John looked surprised at the comment. Harry didn't like Mary, but she was elated when he phoned her about the baby. He guessed she probably went to every Puddlemere game since Oliver was their coach after retiring as their all-star keeper.

"A couple of weeks more to go, thank you, Percy."

Percy seemed so glad to see him, definitely more so than John was, and grabbed both his hands in his.

"Well, congratulations then! Maybe your baby girl and little William will be in the same year at Hogwarts, eh Myc?"

Mycroft smirked at his friend, speaking for the first time since the unusual trio arrived at his office.

"Well, he will be younger than John's girl, and my wife seems to think we won't be sending our son to Hogwarts."

Percy looked outraged at that comment, and Mycroft finally acknowledged the rest of the party present.

"Hermione, John, brother dear. To what do I owe this visit?"

Sherlock finally moved from his place in the wall and was about to speak before Hermione started on Mycroft.

"Don't be absurd Mycroft Holmes. You knew this was going to happen eventually. Your brother, storming your office, asking you about why he is the last one to know that his partner is a wizard. And I'm here to remind you that any new incident from the Moriarty case had to be filed under my office and through Harry. We are looking for a very dangerous man now, and I want the Auror office on it. Let me remind you that you are on our side, not supposed to be helping with your brother's vendetta."  
"Hermione, as you know, John's secret wasn't mine to give. I talked to you about this from the beginning. And Harry has all the new files; you do remember my wife works with him closely? I only need to remind you that she knows everything Sherlock does, or I do, as a matter of fact, so you must be reassured that she will not neglect to inform her boss about it. Or is my wife's professional demeanour in question now?"

Hermione looked furious, and Sherlock took advantage of the cold silence to speak.

"Should we be having this conversation in front of the Head of Magical transportation? Since we all know this is a classified matter of Magical Law enforcement."

Percy just sent Sherlock a benevolent smile before replying to his comment.

"Yes, _Sherly_ , I was leaving. Hermione, I'll see you at The Burrow on Sunday. My best to Ron and the kids. Myc, love to Lissa, I'll expect you lot for dinner tomorrow. You and John are welcome to join us, Sherly. Audrey would love to see you, John. The girls are both at school, but I'm sure we'll see each other more now."

He turned a knowing glance directed to Sherlock, smirking, and the look of outrage on the detective's face would have made John laugh if the whole situation wasn't so inappropriate as a whole. Percy took some powder from the fireplace mantel and threw it on the open fire, muttering 'Department of Magical Transportation,' before disappearing back to his office.

"Hermione, I assure you, you will receive an alert for every new development, and I'll talk to you in regards to my brother's new situation this evening."  
"I'll be expecting it Mycroft. Mr Holmes," she seemed pained by the very act of addressing Sherlock, disapproval still in her face, "John."

And she left through the same fireplace spot her brother in law just vanished a minute before.

Mycroft turned, with a look of quiet amusement in his face that made John want to punch him in the nose. To be fair, Mycroft caused that visceral reaction on John more often than not.

"John. Have a seat. I believe you have some questions, but my brother probably told you everything there is to know."

John sat down on one of the armchairs, and unceremoniously spoke out,

"Congratulations. I didn't know you were married, and least of all expecting a baby."

Mycroft looked baffled, and then he looked at Sherlock, who had a nonchalant look on his face.

"Yes, John, I've been married for almost as long as you, we celebrated the ceremony when you were on your honeymoon. You know why I didn't invite you, I assume. It wasn't a Muggle wedding, and you were pretending to be one, so it seemed like an unfair way to out you to my brother." Emphasizing in the out, Mycroft was a wretched man indeed.  
"I didn't think you would invite me even if it was a muggle wedding Mycroft, so no worries."

Mycroft lifted his eyebrow but declined to comment on that statement. Instead, he addressed Sherlock.

"So brother mine, now that your doctor is out of the closet, for lack of a better term, do you plan to use all the resources at hand? Or do I simply turn the whole thing over to Harry's office?"  
"I think I can handle it, with Alissa and Victor, if you let him. John can join us now if he wants to, that is."

He looked at John like that wasn't a sure thing, and John felt terrible about that. Surely after all that they had been through Sherlock knew he would stand by him, no matter what? But he was staring at the floor now, waiting for a denial from him. Well, John won't have that.

"Yes, of course, I will. Tell us what we need to do. We can reconvene with your" John swallowed loudly at the next word, it was hard to even think about, more to say it out loud, "friends later?"  
"Sherlock Holmes. I don't want Victor Trevor involved for a second in this case. And that is my final word on that. If you insist on it, I'll rather hand the whole thing to Harry, even if it means I'll be sleeping on the sofa for the next week or so."

They started arguing on that point, and John began to pace in the big office. He stopped near the fireplace where both Hermione and Percy had left through. There was a golden framed photograph on the mantel, large enough that he could see the detail on it. It was a picture of Mycroft's wedding day. He was at the centre, arm around the waist of the most beautiful woman he had seen in his life. He was wearing bottle green robes and had a look of satisfaction on his face that John had never seen before. Mycroft's wife, he already suspected her identity, was a dark-skinned beauty, with long dark hair well-formed curls, a regal face and violet eyes. She looked like a queen in lilac dress robes with flowers all over her hair. Standing next to her was Sherlock, in purple robes, barely containing a laugh, with a man almost as tall as him in identical dress robes, with blond curls and an angelic face with an impish grin that didn't quite suit him, arm locked around Sherlock's elbow talking to his ear. Next to them, another beautiful woman with platinum hair and a regal look was rolling her eyes at them, clearly visible in the magical portrait where everything moved. Side by side to Mycroft was Percy and right beside him, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, both of them in dark green robes, finishing Mycroft's part of the wedding party. At that moment the picture changed, Sherlock laughed, and Mycroft's wife stepped on his foot in anger, the other man started laughing bending over. The groom's party began to look at them like they were mad.

"Why you chose this picture for your mantelpiece intrigues me, Mycroft."

Sherlock was standing next to John, looking at it with interest.

"Lissa insisted if you must know. It is the only picture in which you are with both of us at the ceremony. Such a pity Victor is in it too."

So those were the famous members of the golden trio. John already suspected Alissa was Mycroft's wife, so not the ex, and Sherlock is gay. He knew the whole affair with Janine was a ruse to get to Magnussen, but somehow really knowing that Sherlock was indeed gay and that he looked happy in a picture with his ex, made John have a lot of unhealthy thoughts.

"John, those are my friends in the picture. I was the 'maid of honour' at my brother's wedding if you must know, both Victor and I were at Alissa's side when she made her mistake of marrying into my family. That is Gabrielle Delacour," he signalled to the platinum-haired girl in the purple dress robes that matched the colour of Sherlock's and Victor's, "the other two you must recognise."

Mycroft hadn't moved from the chair for the whole conversation, and he remained eyeing the Daily Prophet while John and Sherlock looked at the picture.

"You would have been a nice addition to the wedding party John. You could have balanced my side. God knows I needed a voice of reason with those two idiots running my wedding amok."  
"Even though John would've looked dashing with green robes, you only say that because you are still mad Victor made you kiss him."  
"It was my wedding day Sherlock. He made me kiss him on my wedding day transforming into my wife!"  
"New Orleans was too hot Mycroft. We needed to amuse ourselves. You know I was depressed my best friend was marrying the biggest git in the world. I needed a good laugh."  
"I'm going to tell Lissa you said that. She will have you begging for mercy in no time. She was lenient with you that day because of the...circumstances. And now you have what you always wanted, you know, Lissa is your family, your beloved sister, as you call her now."  
"Yes, even though her sacrifice is as enormous as you are becoming. She should start you on a diet. And don't start with the nonsense of cravings, it is your wife the one who is pregnant, and you are going to be bigger than her soon enough."

Mycroft had a sour look, and he turned to look at him. John was quietly absorbing all this new information. He was starting to feel left out, seeing this part of Sherlock's family life. Family and friends. He thought he was Sherlock's only friend. It turns out he was his only muggle friend, and maybe that wasn't true either. He had Greg, and Mrs Hudson too.

"I think John needs some time digesting this new information my dear brother. I suggest we reconvene later for a debriefing on the current case. Moran has been quiet for a couple of days, and we might need something more before we start moving on him. Lissa hasn't seen anything new related to the case in days."  
"Related to the case? Did she saw anything else?"  
"She saw you and John at the Leaky Cauldron yesterday in a vision. We both decided not to act on it. She has also started having visions of William on a daily basis."  
"That is good. I hope William looks like her, but knowing my luck, I'll get a chubby squib for a nephew."  
"Don't be such an arse, Sherlock. Mycroft, I'm really alright. We should get any information now to prepare for what is next."

"As you wish John. I'll just put you up to date, no doubt Sherlock told you who Moran is. His intentions are clear also: he plans to trash both the muggle and magical worlds to get to Sherlock. His goal is to finish him and anybody else who obstructed Moriarty's network. That includes both Victor Trevor, my wife and me. His secondary targets include you, your wife, Mrs Hudson, Molly Hooper and Gregory Lestrade. I was planning to remove all of you to safe houses around the country this week. However, your wife refused when I talked to her earlier. I know she is a trained sniper, and a good shot too. But this is not a Muggle foe that she can easily conquer."

His face was blank at this comment. John didn't know how much he knew about who had shot Sherlock, he suspected, but he was positive Mycroft didn't know for sure, because his wife, baby or not baby, would probably be in a ditch somewhere.

"This is not a muggle assassin John. Moran is a dark wizard, mighty and unfortunately made insane by grief."  
"I'll talk to her today. I won't be risking our baby. If she is reluctant to leave, I will apply for the license, and I will tell her the truth about me."  
"If it comes to that I'll make sure your license gets expedited. These are special circumstances, and I'm sure I can talk to Hermione about it. You won't go with her into hiding I suppose?"  
"I'll be helping Sherlock with this if he wants me."

At this, Sherlock moved next to John and placed his hand on his shoulder. No words were needed.

"The last time anyone saw Sebastian Moran, he was presumed dead. His body checked thoroughly, or so we thought, for metamorphic magic, and there were no signs of life on his body. The new suspicion is that he indeed has more than one body. This event qualifies as dark magic on a Horcrux level, not precisely the same process, but the same principle applies. He used animated bodies, without changing their appearance, so no changeling magic was detected. Our operatives don't know if he has only two or more bodies, and his real appearance is still a Mystery then. The body that died in Spain last year was the one he was seen in since he left Bulgaria and joined Moriarty."  
"Horcrux? I've never heard of such a thing."  
"It was the piece of dark magic Voldemort used to prolong his lifespan. It involves concealing a piece of your soul inside an inanimate object. He modified it; he even used it on a living thing, his snake at the time. It's dark and obscure magic, and good wizards like yourself know nothing about them. Dumbledore was fiercely against letting any knowledge of them near the shelves of the library at Hogwarts, even at the restricted section."

It was Sherlock who answered, and John wondered how much Sherlock knew about dark magic.

"So he is basically an _inferius_ with a piece of his soul concealed?"  
"More like a piece of his consciousness. His soul would probably be in pieces but inside his real body. Sherlock managed to trail his activities through Paris and Scotland as far as two weeks ago. He was leaving an obvious trail of murder and destruction, and we failed to notice the pattern. Harry and Lissa were investigating the deaths of two wizards in Scotland; they had traitor carved on their arms with a knife. They were presumably part of his former allies in the wizarding community, who severed all ties with him when he started going 'muggle'. This is the case file."

He held a small bottle, filled to the brim with a golden liquid.

"Whose memory is it?"  
"Harry's. When he is on site, his memory is the official case file. I have Lissa's as well if you care about her point of view dear brother."

He produced a second vial, with violet liquid in it.

"We'll see both of them. Any news on Paris? Gabrielle promised she would send a file as well."  
"Yes, she was here a couple of hours ago. She is at the house for the night, should you care to join us for dinner. It is time Lissa met John, dear brother, now that he will be joining the team."

He produced a third bottle, this one with a silver-toned liquid inside.

"We should review the memories first; we might not need to see Gabrielle if her memories prove as accurate as ever."  
"Suit yourself. You know where I keep the Pensieve."

Sherlock took the vials from his brother and walked over to a wall. A green tapestry decorated by silver circles and snakes covered the whole of it. When he was in front of the artwork, he signalled for John to join him.

"John, tap this circles in the tapestry with your wand, first the one on the left, then the one on the top and in the end tap the second snake in the fourth row. Be careful to tap exactly what I told you to tap. This tapestry has over a thousand combinations and most of them, well, not good."

John did as Sherlock told him, and the tapestry moved forward and split into two curtains, revealing a silver bowl, glowing with bright silver light. John had seen a Pensieve once before, in the office of the Head Healer at St. Mungo's. He never needed to use one, so he waited patiently as Sherlock circled the bowl and poured the golden liquid inside. Then, without looking up, he grabbed John's hand, pulling him, so he faced the magical container that was right next to him.

"Stare at the memory, John. It will take you in."


	6. Crime Scene Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No brit picking, no betaed, just me having fun. English is not my first language, so patience.

He stared at the contents and heard Sherlock say,

"Now, touch the memory with your wand John. We'll go in together if we are touching each other."

Hmm, touching each other. So hand holding was not a requisite. John tapped the golden liquid and leaned forward, as he saw Sherlock do the same. The golden liquid started swirling, and John found himself facing a whitewashed cottage, with a tiled ceiling and a little rock fence in the front. Sherlock was standing next to him, and he finally released his hand.

"Harry and Alissa can't see or hear us. But we can listen to them, see what they see. This one is from Harry's point of view, so what he saw will be highlighted."

The same woman from the picture was standing next to Harry Potter. John sees his hair immediately. He was wearing dark brown wizarding robes, opened at the front, with half of a muggle suit with a waistcoat under it. It looked like Harry was wearing a trench coat more than robes, in fact, the man looked like the Tenth Doctor from Dr Who. His hair was all over the place, and he still had his round-rimmed glasses. The woman was wearing burgundy wizarding robes, her hair concealed under a tignon. They walked side by side, and Harry was about to enter through the fence before he thought better of it and took out his wand.

" _Revelio_ ," he said.

Nothing happened.

" _Finite incantatem._ "

Again, nothing.

"No traces of magic or any spells in place. He must have erased the protecting spells from the cottage. Alissa, do you see anything?"

John heard a melodic voice, with a heavy accent he could not place. American, but different, with a hint of French? He would ask Sherlock as soon as they left the memory. The voice seemed to transmit strength and confidence, even though it was also sweet.

"Shadows of the past. Nothing of importance. Shall we, _cher_?"

They entered through the fence, and John noticed all the plants in the front garden looked withered and dead. He told Sherlock that, and he nodded.

"Moran's magic. It drains the life around him, and plants and small thing suffer more and die. That means he is not using his real body."

They followed Harry and Alissa into the cottage, they entered a small sitting room, sparsely furnished, with a couple of spellbooks over a worn coffee table. The sitting room opened into a small, empty kitchen. Nobody there. Sherlock and John followed the memory aurors in and out of each place, and he saw the detective taking in every detail, as he usually did during crime scenes. Nothing seemed to merit a deduction, because he stayed silent as they walked out of the first floor. The aurors had their wands out, and they started up the stairs. The first small bedroom was empty, no furniture. In the second room, they found two wizards lying dead on the floor. They were facing up, eyes wide open. Both of them middle-aged, in wizarding robes that seemed well worn, but not tattered or old. Congealed blood on each of their wand arms, with the word 'traitor' crudely etched on them. This room had no furniture either, so it seemed that the cottage was more a hiding place than a living space for the recently deceased wizards. Probably not for a long time, because they didn't seem to have provisions for long-term shelter. Both of them had their wands in their hands, and Harry retrieved them, using Priori Incantatem on both. Both of the tips blurted out the ghost of killing curses. Alissa looked around the room for other possible clues and found the blasting result around the doorway, where the wood was cracked.

Harry said to Alissa,

"Can you do a reconstruction of the events?"  
"I think I can; this is recent. I need to step out of the room to start."

Alissa stepped out and started chanting with her wand in hand. Her eyes changed, and the usually violet pupil turned into full violet eyes. She looked fully immersed in a type of trance, walking into the room and standing there silent for a few minutes. Harry observed with interest, staying out of the way as she walked around the room. Suddenly she stopped, and her eyes went back to normal.

"Could be Moran, but we are looking at something we've never seen before. His face, his whole body, not the same we have in our files. He looks different from the last time we saw him. Dark magic, I don't know if transfiguration is involved. We should consult an expert if we can find more evidence. Not much to go from just the reconstruction, we are talking about murder, they were expecting it, he managed to kill two wizards, moderately skilled from what we know about them, without so much as a sweat. He was fast, methodical. If this man is indeed Sebastian Moran, he is going to be a challenge to catch. And we need to get him. Alive. That is the only way that we can find the real Sebastian Moran, wherever he is hiding."  
"McGonagall or Trevor?"  
"McGonagall if she has the time, _mon ange_ may be more amenable if we involve someone else."  
"We might have to do it sooner rather than later. I'll talk to Holmes if you don't convince him, but I sincerely doubt it would be necessary, you manage the man as nobody else can."  
"Yes, _ma moitié_ can be quite the handful sometimes. But we understand each other, so if we need outside help, however inconvenient he might deem it, we are going to get it, cher."  
"On the same page as always. Anything else we can gather here? Should we send the rest of the team to retrieve the bodies? Do we need to notify any next of kin?"  
"None left in England. I just touched the coin."

Three wizards in Auror robes apparated on the spot, and they looked nervous that Harry was there. He gestured them inside the house.

"We need retrieval. Double murder."

They went inside without another word.

"After you, Alissa."

Both Harry and Alissa disapparated. John found himself back at Mycroft's office, next to the pensieve. Sherlock was standing right next to him.

"How did you find Harry's memory, little brother?"  
"As accurate as ever. But our head of the Auror office relies too much on Alissa for the actual gathering of evidence, as he should. Potter is a man of action, Alissa is the brains of the operation. Her memory is the one I'm interested in. The conventional approach didn't yield much information, as you surely know. So we need her intake and her reconstruction of the scene."  
"This is the first time I see the Auror department at work. It is so different than I imagined. Forensics don't really work on magical crimes I gather?"  
"Oh yes they do, John. Only that we have magical ways to gather evidence. Alissa is a gifted Seer; I should have told you that she can see, not only the future, but some of the recent past as well, and the layers of the spirit realm."  
"Layers of the spirit realm?"  
"About that. Sherlock, are you sure you want John in Lissa's memory? Most people find what she sees, how she sees the world, rather unsettling."  
"I know you wept the first time you saw a memory of hers Mycroft, but I think John can handle himself."

His brother tensed his mouth, but replied,

"As you wish. Be my guest."

Sherlock turned to face John and talked directly to him, not taking his eyes off John's.

"John, we are now going into my sister's memory. Her view of the world can be disturbing to one who is unused to the input. I have perused her memory many times, and so has my brother, and he still finds it somewhat disturbing sometimes. If you need to come out of it, just touch your wand to your temple, and we will come out. If needed I'll go back inside by myself. Don't feel ashamed if you need that. It sometimes works to close your eyes if the flood of information is too much. Also, some places feel charged with more spiritual energy than others. For example, when I saw a memory of our time at Beauxbatons, the whole spiritual energy within the school made me vomit. I can't imagine how she stands to visit the place."

John started to worry about his possible reaction to the memory. It wasn't like Sherlock to confess any weakness or mistake whatsoever. Then, today he had been more open with Sherlock than in the past five years, and he had reciprocated, giving information, expressing 'sentiment.'

"I would do as you say if it is too much, I'll close my eyes, and we'll leave if I can't handle it."

Sherlock seemed reassured, and they walked again together to the pensieve. Sherlock looked at John's hand; he seemed unsure that he was allowed to reach for it this second time, so John took the lead and grasped his. It was clumsy, not the usual hand holding with interlinking fingers, but an unsure contact. He shouldn't even indulge in this, he thought, he is, in fact, a married man with a pregnant wife waiting for him at home. Sherlock emptied the content of the second vial in the silvery bowl, and John touched the liquid with the tip of his wand.

The first thing John noticed was the colour. It seemed like everything around him glowed, a kind of vague purple hue. He saw Harry and Alissa arriving at the same spot, but everything was different. There were vague purple outlines, a father sitting with his child on the fence, the child laughing. A woman, sitting close to them, oblivious, clutching her belly and crying, two different children pulling weeds in the garden. An old lady in the doorway, touching the closed door. He started to feel a little dizzy. He closed his eyes, and he focused on Sherlock's hand, which he was still holding. The last time, Sherlock had released him as soon as they entered the memory. This time John supposed that since he was the one who kept his hand clasped in the first place, he was the one who had to let go. Well, too bad, Sherlock's hand was the only thing keeping him anchored.

"Too much?"  
"A minute."

He opened his eyes, and he saw that Harry and Alissa were already searching the cottage. The world was still glowing purple, but he felt better than before, so he let go of Sherlock and started walking through the front door after the aurors. They were already in the kitchen, and John saw an elderly couple holding hands in the sitting room. They followed, the aurors into the now not so empty kitchen, the woman from outside laughing at another man happily in the kitchen.

"She sees memories. Strong ones. Some are strong enough to last a lifetime, and some are there for a little while. She can summon them if they are recent or strong enough. The ones we see right now are not the summoned kind, just powerful ones that lingered. Every place has a few or many of those memories. She sees this all the time, everywhere."

John blinked, as his eyes filled with unwanted moisture. The experience was surreal, even for a wizard. That someone lived like this, seeing memories, important ones, memories left by people everywhere. And he shuddered, thinking what she might have witnessed. Strong memories weren't always happy memories. Some of the most horrible events in history were unforgettable things. Sherlock voiced his unspoken thoughts.

"Yes. My sister sometimes sees the most gruesome things. In spite of that, she is the sanest human I know. Well, I take that back, after all, she married Mycroft."

The aurors were already up the stairs when the restarted, children running up the stairs after them, memories of little ones long gone. A couple caressing in the hallway, the same woman and man in the kitchen, the man wearing an army uniform. They walked into the room, and memories started to overlap, things getting again intense for John. He closed his eyes and leaned against a wall, and Sherlock grabbed his hand, steadying him, and started talking.

"You can keep them closed, for now, memories overlapping are hard on the senses. You can open your eyes when Alissa commands the reconstruction. I can see the two men, just before they fall on their backs dead."

He could hear Harry and Alissa in the background, and he felt cold sweat trailing his forehead. He was starting to feel sick.

"Open your eyes, John."

John obeyed and found himself in a different scenario than the one he just left. The hue of the memory was now blue, and he could see Alissa and her violet eyes, chanting as he remembered from before. John now saw the two men, alive in the captured image, pacing about the room, with an almost military stance. They were talking to each other, he was rubbish reading lips, but he could see Sherlock and Harry as they watched Alissa in rapture, no doubt both committing to memory every word said. Both men were still pacing when the door opened, and they had little or no time before both of them were lying on the floor, dead. The murderer stood watching them, a tall, dark-haired man, with stocky built and cold grey eyes. He walked to both of them, produced a hunting knife from the inside of his robes and carved the words traitor on the wand arm of both men. He looked bored, not like a man who just killed two men. At least he didn't seem amused.

"We can leave now. I don't think the rest of the memory would yield as much information as this bit. The murder was so straightforward that it leaves no place for deduction, no place for further investigation. But it let us have a good look at Moran's new body."

John touched his wand to his temple, and they were both standing back in Mycroft's office. Mycroft was in the same chair, still reading the Daily Prophet.

"Mycroft we are going to need Victor after all. Even Alissa said so."

Mycroft gave an exasperated sigh.

"He really doesn't like him?"  
"Nonsense. Mycroft loves him. He's mad, but if someone else had tried what Victor did, he would be stuck in the brain room and would no one would ever hear of them again."

John felt just a little deflated at that statement. Of course, Mycroft loved Victor Trevor, and hated John Watson, apparently.

"Those brains are not for torture little brother."  
"Ah, yes, but there are some things for torture hidden in this department."

To that Mycroft just smirked, and he got up from his chair.

"I guess I have to call Tum now. This case is starting to be so much more bothersome than usual, so much legwork ahead for all of you. I offer you my condolences."  
"It's all good; we are back on terms of endearment for you both now. Victor will be glad to hear from you. Let me know when we should assemble?"  
"Rarely so compliant brother, having John on the magical side is doing wonders for your temper."  
"Sod off."  
"That is more like it. See you later, John. Brother."

He nodded the dismissal and walked to the fireplace, took some green powder of the mantlepiece and stuck his head in it. John and Sherlock stepped out of Mycroft's office, and they found themselves in the hallway, right outside the lift.

"Hungry?"  
"Starving. But I really should get back home. I should talk to Mary about the protection and safe house. I don't want my wife and child in any more danger if I can help it. You need me to help you out of the Ministry?"  
"If you need to leave I'll stay. I'll walk to the Auror office."  
"Are you going to work on the case then? I can stay if you need me."  
"No, you go and warn Mary. I'm just going to grab someone for lunch."  
"You are going to eat, voluntarily, with someone?"  
"My sister. As you could see, she works here at the Auror office."  
"Ah. Somebody else joining you?"

Sherlock looked surprised at the comment but answered nonchalantly.

"We will probably end up eating with my brother."

John sent a look of disbelief his way, before walking into the lift.

"I'll wait for the next one; we are going in opposite directions."  
"Text me anything new Sherlock."  
"Yes."


	7. The Great Reveal

John left the Ministry of Magic quickly, apparating inside a cupboard in the clinic, where he had stashed his muggle clothes. He quickly changes, holding his robes in his hands. The clinic was full of people at that time of the day, so John was extremely careful to fold the clothes in a pair of surgical scrubs. He left the cupboard and saved the bundle in his locker. He walked to the reception and chatted with the receptionist, and was able to give a warm and heartfelt answer when she asked about Mary. It had been months since they both worked together, Mary quitting when all disaster struck.

He took the tube home, and he walked the two blocks from the station to his house. He opened the door and found Mary reading a book in the sitting room.

"You are back early. Easy day at the clinic?"  
"I wasn't on today. I was doing a bit of research on the Moriarty case."  
"Mmm. Mycroft spoke to me about a safe house for us the other day. I told him he was ridiculous. You can take care of yourself, and I have proved countless times that I can do the same."  
"About that. I think we should consider the offer Mary. It isn't just you anymore. And we now know that we are targets. We also know who is after us, and he is more than dangerous. And he is not your usual run of the mill assassin, not even in your league."

Mary scoffed at the last comment, and the look on her face said she wasn't impressed with the direction the evening was taking.

"John. Even though I left my old life behind, I can look after myself and my child. I can even look after you. It doesn't matter who is targeting us. We can both hide without Mycroft if it comes to that."  
"I need to help with this case, Mary. I'm not going into hiding."  
"But you expect me to hide without you? Just to sit quietly and hide somewhere while my husband risks his life somewhere?"  
"You have to remember it's not you anymore. You are carrying our unborn daughter. And this is not a regular assassin. You have to trust me on that Mary; the man is deranged."  
"Who is this man? What's his name?"  
"Sebastian Moran."

Mary's eyes widened, she clearly recognised the name. But she still stubbornly stared back at John, she didn't seem capable of relenting in this specific point.

"I thought Sherlock got rid of all of Moriarty's network. I thought Moran was dead."  
"You know him, don't you?"  
"I've heard of him. He was Moriarty's second. But he mostly stood out of the limelight. He was a very skilled killer, sent to eliminate threats on a regular basis."  
"So you know he is a serious threat."  
"Not threat enough to break our family."  
"Nobody is breaking our family, Mary. If anything, we are trying to protect it. And our best chance is to hide while we sort this."  
"By we, you mean Sherlock and you then? I'm not letting you run around with your addict best friend after a skilled killer without me."  
"He isn't just a skilled killer Mary. He is different."  
"Different how?"  
"You have to trust me on that."  
"I can handle any information you and Sherlock share on Moran. Try me, John."

John sighed and placed his fingers on the bridge of his nose.

"I'm not authorised to reveal pieces of the intel on this case."  
"I'm not going anywhere, anywhere John, unless I know the full story."

John grabbed his phone and called Mycroft's direct line.

"Mycroft. I'm going to need that license. As soon as possible."  
"John. I'll see what I can do."

And he hung up.

"License? You need a license to talk to your wife?"  
"About this, yes. With Moran, this is an exceptional case Mary, nothing like we've worked before. It involves layers of information that I'm not at liberty to share, not without a license, if I even talk about it without it I'll wind up in a jail where you'll never be able to reach me."

Mary's eyebrows rose at the last comment, like daring someone to take John were she couldn't reach him.

His phone beeped.

_License approved by Minister himself. Proceed with caution - MH_

"Mary. We are talking about something completely different. Not your usual gun and cloak act. There is magic in the world; the world is full of it."

Mary's face looked utterly aghast.

"You mean that? Magic, _real magic_? Hocus pocus and all that nonsense?"  
"Yes. But is more than that. There is a whole magical world right here, under our noses."

He pulled out his wand, safely hidden inside his jacket.

"This is a magic wand. I'm a wizard, Mary."

Her face was horror-struck as she looked at the magical stick John was brandishing before her eyes.

"Witches and wizards are living in hiding all over the world. We have our laws, our governments. High ranking officials in the regular government know about us and keep the secret. We are only allowed to tell our significant other when we marry someone who is not from our world, someone not magical. We call non-magical folks muggles."  
"And you are just telling me now? After all this time? You are a real hypocrite John Watson. You, mad about me keeping secrets from you when you were withholding _this_."

Mary was furious, and if he didn't detect a hint of fear in her voice, he might have been worried about his safety.

"I kept this from you because I left that world a long time ago, almost twenty years ago in fact. I've been living as a muggle, working as one, behaving like one, living by your law and rules. I come from a non-magical family Mary, so it wasn't a hard choice to make. Twenty years ago the magical world was in turmoil. Things were not safe as they are now, well safe except for Moran. I was going to tell you if our daughter showed any signs of magic, I was not planning on rejoining the magical world."

At those words, Mary clutched her belly in a possessive manner and glared at John.

"Our daughter? Our daughter can be born like this?"  
"Magic is inherited, so yes, she can be a witch. It's less likely since I'm muggle-born and you are a muggle, but she can have magic."  
"Pray to whatever god you believe in, John Watson, that that is not the case."

She was livid; John had never seen his wife so mad, not even as she was threatening Sherlock when she feared he would reveal her secret.

"I know you are mad, and you feel betrayed Mary, believe me, I do."

He looked thoroughly defeated.

"But you need to know. Moran is a wizard too. And he is more dangerous than anything you've met before. You need to go into hiding Mary; we need magical wards to protect both you and our daughter."  
"Mycroft. Mycroft knows? Sherlock knows? About this? About what you are?"  
"Both Sherlock and Mycroft are highly trained wizards too, Mary."  
"I knew it. I knew something was off from the beginning. I knew you both were hiding something. I thought...but anyway, your secret is worse than I imagined."

John's ears turned red at that comment. He could very well picture what Mary was imagining. After all, the press, the media, everybody assumed Sherlock and him were more than friends most of the time. He always denied it because having people say it when it was never the truth only made him mad, remembering what he never had. It never stopped, even after he married Mary. She always took it as a joke, but I guess she still doubted if there was any veracity behind the punch line. Mary stood silent for a while near the living room window. She seemed to be pondering the whole situation.

"We can do it, John, we can save our family. We can go away, away from all of this. You did it once, walk away from all this nonsense. You can do it again. We can leave London; we can leave the country if necessary."

"I can't walk away from this case now Mary. I need to see this to the end. The case involves us directly. Sherlock risked his life for two years to save me, and he is fighting now for us."

"And for himself."

"Yes, for himself too. For him, for his friends. And magical law enforcement is involved. The whole operation is a professional enterprise from our side. I only want to see this to the end."

"And after that, you can walk out? Willingly?"

John was silent for a few minutes.

"Yes. After that, for you, for our daughter, I will walk away. We can go wherever you want, raise our daughter as far away from the magical world as you want."

After that, Mary seemed to relax somewhat. John knew he was committing to something that will end life as he knew it. But he was willing to do whatever it took for his daughter, and his daughter's safety and well being will depend on having her mother by her side. A happy mother. A happy mother and father. Well, a happy mother.

His phone beeped again.

_Flat compromised. Surveillance detected movement. Apparate at 221B immediately.-MH_

"Mary. We need to leave. Now."

And he grabbed her arm and disapparated on the spot.


	8. Pieces that Fit Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary is introduced to the magical side of 221B Baker Street. She is not enjoying it.

John found himself holding his wife's arm in the sitting room of 221B. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, back in his muggle clothes, and Alissa Holmes, also in muggle attire, was holding his hand, perched on the arm of it. A mousy looking man with a big grin on his face was standing near the window, and a beautiful woman with platinum blond hair was next to him. Mary looked startled but managed to regain her composure as soon as she saw Sherlock. She stared directly at his hand in Alissa's an looked at John as searching for answers in his face. Alissa was the first to break the silence.

"John, so good to see you in the physical world at last. Mrs Watson, we are sorry for the inconveniences our investigation is causing you, as you can see I understand you are in a fragile state right now."

Alissa's pregnant belly was showing, and you could see she was trying to be reassuring.

"However, Creevey here happened to spot our target heading your way just minutes ago, and your removal from your flat was necessary to ensure yours, and your baby's well being."

Mary didn't answer, and John stood holding her still as he managed introductions.

"Mary, this is Alissa Holmes."  
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs Watson."

But she stayed on her post on the chair, and Sherlock seemed to have tightened his hold on her hand.

"They," and she motioned the mousy looking man forward, and the girl on the window took her cue too "are Dennis Creevey and Gabrielle Delacour. They will be in charge of your security from now on. My husband has procured a house on Cornwall for your stay during this troubled time."  
"Alissa."

He seemed to be on a first name basis with the woman now.

"My wife is just learning about the magical world right now. Is it indispensable to remove her to Cornwall right now?"  
"I'm afraid it is, John."

She looked at Sherlock for reassurance on her next words.

"Moran is moving faster than we thought he would. Rather _ennuyant_ , _mais_ , we must protect your wife from him from now on. In fact, she should have been in hiding since we first offered."

Mary scoffed at the last comment and fixed her gaze on Sherlock now. He remained eerily silent through the whole exchange.

"I will talk to my wife alone for a minute now. Sherlock, I'm going to use your room."

Sherlock waved his hand as saying be my guest but refused to speak even then.

John walked with Mary into Sherlock's room, which happened to be pristine at the moment. No sign of anyone sleeping there for a couple of days.

"John, who is that woman? What does she have to do with all of this?"  
"She is an Auror, kind of a wizard police officer. She is higher in the ranks though."

He didn't actually know that, but he suspected it was the truth.

"She also happens to be Mycroft's wife."

Mary laughed when he said that.

"For a moment there, I thought when she said 'my husband' she was talking about Sherlock."  
"Easy mistake to make. He and Alissa are very close. They have been friends since school."  
"You all went to the same school then? There has to be just one place for people like you here."

He caught a note of contempt in the way she said ' _you_ '.

"They both went to school together in France. Mycroft and me, we went to the same school, but we were never acquainted with each other. You could say we ran with different crowds."

He wasn't about to start explaining about Hogwarts and house rivalries. Mary had a look of resolve on her face.

"You want me to go along with this."  
"Yes. It's the only way I know for keeping you both safe."  
"And after you finish the case..."  
"Yes. After I finish this case, we do whatever you like. I suspect your security detail already have your stuff packed and moved into Cornwall now."

They left the bedroom, Mary looking out of her element.

"Alissa, my wife has agreed to leave with your aurors now."

She left her place on the chair and walked to John. She took out her wand and a piece of paper.

"John we are going to perform a Fidelius charm on the place in Cornwall. Not even the Auror office is going to be able to find it without your previous consent since you are going to be secret-keeper. However, I strongly suggest you let Dennis and Gabrielle in the loop, so they can properly look after your wife and child."  
"Do I have to do the charm myself? My spellwork is a little rusty as you already know, and I've never performed such a charm in my life."  
"I'll do it for you. It doesn't need you to be the caster. The address is on this paper. Memorize it."

John took the paper from her hand and read the contents. Alissa raised her wand and started moving her hands, not speaking the incantation out loud.

"Now the place is unplottable, and only those who you allow in can come."

He knew what came next. He took the paper and a pen from the kitchen table and wrote over the address.

"You can both look at the paper now."

He showed the paper to the two aurors.

"In fact, all of you here look at it."

He showed it to Mary, Sherlock, and Alissa next. Then he took out his wand.

"Incendio" he muttered.

It was the first time his wife had seen him do actual magic, aside from apparating them both into the flat. She looked like she was going to be sick.

"Doctor, we'll take it from here. _Madame_ , come along _s'il vous plaît_."

And she stood next to Mary, waiting for her permission before grabbing her arm. Mary seemed to relax when she was standing next to her, and John wondered what was it about that woman that made him feel so lightheaded.

"Goodbye, Mary. I'll be seeing you soon."  
"Goodbye John. Sherlock."

And Sherlock nodded her way. She disapparated with Mary, bowing once to Alissa on her way out. Creevey did the same just seconds after.

"Now for proper introductions."

Alissa walked over to John and pulled him into a hug, which was awkward because John wasn't expecting it. She was as tall as he was, and her pregnant belly was barely noticeable in the red dress she was wearing. How far along was she?

"20 weeks."

She answered, almost reading his mind, and hell, she might be able to do just that.

" _Bienvenue dans la famille_ , John."

His French was terrible, but he understood that. He didn't know why she was saying that then, though.

" _Assez_! He just sent his scared wife away, dearest."  
" _Mon lapin_ , what is it that you always say? You see, but you don't observe. His wife is scared of him."  
"Preposterous."  
"But correct, I'm afraid. Mary didn't take the magic thing well."

Sherlock seemed indignant on his behalf, and that did wonders for John's current dark mood. He must enjoy this, his friendship with Sherlock, for whatever little time they had left.

"She is one to talk. Pot to kettle."  
"Well, apparently being an international assassin is better than being a wizard on her scale."  
" _Mon Dieu_ , you have never killed a man without a good reason to do it, John Watson, either with or without magic. You are a good man."

She said it with such a conviction that John wondered what this woman knew or believed about him, then she walked and locked her arm in his.

"As I said before, _bienvenue_."  
"Thank you."

She gave him a rare smile.

"I'm glad Elle's veela charm worked on Mary. I was worried because it not always works on women."  
"William. Relax. It worked, and she looked better when she was leaving. _Ma bichette_ is going to do her best to keep your wife happy, John."  
"You use Sherlock's first name?"  
"He's always been William to me. I'm naming my son after him. _Mon lapin et mon lapinet_."

She was beaming and holding her hand to her belly while she kept her other arm around John's elbow. This woman was all ' _sentiment_ ', he wondered how she managed to befriend a Holmes and marry the other.

"Enough with all the endearment and the touching, we should get back to work. Mycroft is waiting for us with Elle's memory at his office again."  
"We should ask Perce to link the fireplace here while the investigation is open. In fact," she produced a silvery eagle from her wand and repeated the message, "I'm going to do it right now. I don't feel like going down a toilet or telephone box for your benefit, brother."

They waited a couple of minutes, and soon enough the fireplace started glowing green, and Percy's head appeared through it.

"Got your message, Lissa, this will be temporary, yes? I have to go through Hermione if you plan on making this one a permanent part of the network. You could also use Mrs Hudson's fireplace, you know, hers has always been properly linked."  
"Thank you, Percy, yes, this is just for now. Auntie is not home, you know, she is visiting her sister, and I didn't want to blow up her door."  
"She doesn't keep it _Alohomora_ protected. She knows I don't have a wand."  
"Ah, but she knows you can always get your hands on one, trust me, she seals her lock with magic."

John wasn't even surprised that Mrs Hudson was a witch too. Her cooking was too good not to involve magic.

"Auntie?"  
"She's not my real aunt. She's Victor's aunt from his mother's side, but I've called her auntie since I was a little child. Her sister is my mother's best friend."  
"But she only has one sister, and I thought she only had that niece that usually visits her, not that I've ever seen her."  
"That's Victor mother. Her only sister. And the niece, that's Victor. Metamorphmagus, if you didn't know already."  
"Ah, yes, he can look however he wants then?"  
"Yes, he is also amazingly skilled at transfigurating anything else. Most of my dresses and Sherlock's Belstaff for example."

She touched the tip of her wand to her clothing and the dress transfigurated into wizarding robes. Sherlock, looking bored, raised from his chair to stand next to her after she gave him a 'better do it now' look, and as she touched her wand to his coat, it transformed into the grey robes he was wearing earlier.

"It was so much better when I could do it myself."  
"And who do you thank for that?"

Sherlock said to himself in a low tone something that sounded like _your husband_ , and she pinched him hard in the arm in return.

"I heard that, and you know it's yourself you have to thank for that. Victor invented this spell to aid him when he transforms. It's of no use to be able to transform fast and having to keep the same clothes altogether. Such a brilliant man, _mon ange_."

John's arm stiffed a little, and he sensed Alissa watching his reaction. Great, now two people can stare at him and read his every move. She seemed genuinely interested.

"Well, you'll be seeing the man himself soon enough. He was delighted when he was asked to join the team."  
"He said yes then? What did he ask for in return this time?"  
"You'll have to ask him, but I think I can quote him, something along the lines of 'the pleasure and joy of our company.' "

Sherlock scoffed, but John could see a smile on his face, a smile that returned the unhealthy thoughts about Victor Trevor to John's mind very readily. He cleared his throat before adding,

"Then we better get going. Mycroft surely won't wait for us all the evening."

Alissa raised her eyebrows, clearly saying with one gesture that the man will apparently wait for _her_. They all walked to the fireplace, and each of them took the powder, and they appeared in Mycroft's office. Mycroft was seating in his desk and a beautiful woman, with long blond curly hair, an angelic face which John thought he might have seen before, and beautiful light blue eyes was seating on the corner of it, pouting.

"I said no, Tum. I can't do what you want this time, or anytime for all that matters."  
"Pleaaaaase Mac, please, let me handle it this time! I can do it! If Griz can do it, I can do it. It's going to work this time, I know. Pleaaaaaase!"

John did recognise the woman. He was sure this woman was a Bond Girl a few years back. What was she doing in the office of the Head of the Department of Mysteries, Merlin only knew. But he was sure he had heard Mycroft using that name before.

They both turned to look at the new arrivals, and the woman's face lit up lit up like the sky. She smiled and stood from her spot on the desk and walked directly to meet Sherlock with open arms. She was petite but wearing heels, and she came almost to Sherlock's nose in height. She threw herself in his arms and Sherlock received her looking annoyed, but as she was going to kiss him on the lips, Sherlock reclaimed one of his arms and placed his hand in between both of their mouths. She pulled back with a look of betrayal on her face, as he told her,

"I've told you a thousand times now; I don't kiss Victoria Vertro. I don't kiss her for the paparazzi, and I don't kiss her in private either."

She pouted and touched her dress with her wand, which changed into plum wizarding robes. Then she transformed herself into the gorgeous man John remembered from the wedding picture, almost nose to nose in height with Sherlock, with the same blue eyes and the same pout.

"Real height Victor, and real eyes. There's no dancing involved tonight."

He touched his robes again, which became longer, and only one of his eyes changed to an eerie green as he towered Sherlock in height, the detective as tall as his nose now. His voice, a cheery tenor, same cadence as the woman John just heard speaking a moment ago, only with more masculine tone and embedded with mischief.

"Now, can I say hello properly?"

Sherlock lifted his head to the man now, seemed satisfied and gave him a chaste peck on the lips. The man started again with his unholy pouting. John wanted the earth to open and swallow him whole from the moment their exchange began. Alissa seemed to read his mind, because she locked her arm around his elbow again, which managed to stop him from returning where he came from through the fireplace.

"I'm having none of that, _mon ange_ , you must behave yourself today! Victor, this is John Watson."

The man just seemed to realise there was someone other than Sherlock in the room. He turned to look at John and Alissa, and then looked at Mycroft with a look of utter betrayal on his face.

"Please tell me this is not the muggle, Mac. Please tell me this is not who I think it is. Please tell me I am dead and condemned to my version of hell."

Mycroft looked amused and his wife positively furious. Sherlock grabbed Victor by the arm and made him stand in front of John, who was still wearing the muggle clothing he met Mary with. He looked at John, whose face was sour with ill-concealed displeasure, dismissed the look, and said to Victor instead of him,

"Victor Trevor, this is John Watson, my best friend. John, this is Victor."  
"His boyfriend.", chimed Trevor, extending his hand for John to take.


	9. Parisian Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We properly meet the infamous Victor Trevor, Metamorphmagus extraordinaire and Sherlock's school sweetheart. John is not amused.

Victor still extended his hand, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Ex-boyfriend, and the other hand, please."

He looked offended and retreated his hand, before adding,

"I changed my mind, Miff."  
"You can't change your mind every two or so years, Victor. I have to remind you. You broke up with me. And John, don't shake his left hand, unless you want him to be able to transform into you."

John was still astounded at the whole ordeal, and he shook Victor's right hand when he finally extended it. It was weird because Victor placed his hand forward looking down, like a lady expecting it to be kissed, not looking at John as he barely touched his hand.

"Victor Trevor, pleased to meet you finally. How did a muggle like yourself wound up in the office of a high ranking official of the Ministry of Magic?"  
"John is not a muggle, Tum. Hogwarts alumni, like myself."

Victor gave Mycroft a murderous look this time.

"And you kept this from me all this time Mac? Don't tell me you didn't know, won't believe you anyway."  
"Not my secret to tell."  
"Yes Victor, John is a wizard, a trained healer, retired though."  
"You still angry at me?"

Again with the unholy pout. Sherlock's face softened a little, his arm still grabbing Victor's elbow.

"Well, Tum Tum, you did complicate matters a lot this time."

John felt slightly nauseous at the term of endearment falling from Sherlock's lips. It felt surreal. This version of his friend was not the cold Sherlock he used to know. He wondered if he even knew the man for real.

"I checked, and double checked the body. I swear I didn't found any use of metamorphic magic. Dark Arts are not my area, as you usually say, darling. Maybe if Mac here had a chance reviewing the body, or you. But I didn't think anything like that could be at play. He was supposed to be powerful, yes, but that meant a man that could hold his part in a magic duel, not a dark lord. Skilled in combat magic, that was all the information we had to work with."  
" _Mon ange_ , no one is placing the blame on you. You managed to take down the man alone when you were supposed to have back up. We got a little sidetracked, and now we are reaping the consequences."  
"And I'm sorry, especially now, with you and my godson in the line of danger. I'm sorry Griz. I'll do anything for you, and you know that. I'll fix it."  
"No strings attached then? I won't be expected to do anything outrageous this time?"  
"If Mac delivers, you won't have to do anything."  
"I can't promise anything, Tum, you'll have to negotiate with my brother. This, what you are asking, I don't think I can manage this time."  
"You can, you know it. I need to convince you properly."

He turned to look at John now.

"So your healing training, not recent I gather?"

John tried to keep a neutral look now.

"Yes, not recent. Almost twenty years ago, as a matter of fact."  
"Pity. There's been a lot of advance in scar healing now. Healers can almost vanish old scars."

John touched his shoulder almost as a reflex at that comment, wondering how much this man knew about him.

"Maybe you could sort this one out if you saw the right books."

He released himself from Sherlock's grip, and placed his now free arm over his back, in a possessive stance.

"Sorry?"

"Yes, those scars on his back are hideous, if I must say so. I bet if we gave you the right books, you could get rid of them."

Sherlock's eyes widened a little, before setting his face back to his unexpressive mask. John tried his best to maintain his composure.

"Yes, I bet I could. Maybe we could get rid of the one on your chest also if you'd like that."

He had patched Sherlock countless times before, and he didn't remember any scars on his back. He must have acquired them when he was away, then. John had only glimpsed Sherlock's chest when he was recovering after Mary shot him. The picture in his mind of Sherlock's flawless pale skin, blemished only by the bullet hole in the front, was replaced with the unknown horrors hiding in his back. What else had Sherlock kept from him from his years away?

Victor's face changed at his last comment, turning into a scowl and outrage.

"The one on your chest?"  
"Just a souvenir from a recent case, nothing to worry about."

Victor turned to look at Mycroft this time, who was shaking his head and sighing.

"This hurts me, that you kept me out of the loop like that. I would have done something."  
"Yes, and you would be in Azkaban for cruelty against muggles or Merlin knows what. So spare me the indignation, however rightful. My little brother puts himself in the line of danger too much these days, and I want to keep you both out of Azkaban or muggle prison for the time being."  
"This only helps me to prove the point I was making before Mac, and you know it. It's time we finally settled this."  
"I will consider it if that clears your head."  
"I won't have you and Victor planning my future without consulting me, Mycroft."  
"You see, you leave, and this is what I have to deal with every single day. My patience is running thin."

Mycroft looked at his brother and Victor angrily. Alissa moved then. She finally released John and went to stand next to her husband. He raised his hand, and grabbed hers, placing it close to his heart. John felt like an outsider, with a ringside seat to a family feud. Sherlock cleared his throat once.

"Nothing settled yet, we still have a lot of ground to cover today. I want to see Elle's memory of the incident in Paris."

Mycroft gave his wife the clear bottle with silver liquid, and she handed the vial to Sherlock. Victor moved to reach the tapestry, pulling out his wand, before Sherlock stopped him and looked at John instead. Somewhat relieved, John walked forward and repeated the earlier motion from memory. Victor took a step back, throwing John dirty looks from the wall nearby. The pensieve reappeared, and Sherlock once again poured the contents of the vial inside. John grabbed his hand once more and touched the glowing liquid with the tip of his wand.

They emerged into a busy Parisian street in the middle of the day, packed with shops. John watched as the beautiful blonde from the flat, which he now knew was Gabrielle Delacour, made her way amongst the unsuspecting crowd. They followed her in silence, John staying away from the people, as he felt uncomfortable when they walked through him like ghosts. John reminded himself once again that this was only a memory. He felt Sherlock watching him, as he continued to pursue Gabrielle through the streets. She stopped in front of a classic looking apartment building. Gabrielle tapped her wand twice in between two walls, and a door emerged. She knocked the door twice and waited. No answer. She placed the tip on the lock. Nothing happened. She muttered spells, and finally one managed to open it. Sherlock and John followed her into a richly decorated hallway, completely dark. Gabrielle lit her wand and walked the house as she knew the place. The end of the corridor took them into the living room, also dark, with beautiful classic furniture, probably all of them priceless antiques.

"Rich family, probably?"  
"Yes and no. Rich widow. No progeny. Very skilled witch, and worked for the French Ministry of Magic. She was Gabrielle's superior a few years back when she started. She wasn't law enforcement at the beginning; she was into muggle-wizard relations. This woman was the liaison with the muggles in the government. Old money, I used to come here as a child. Her mother was a good friend of _grand-mère_."  
"And she was involved with Moran and Moriarty's network? You know, with what you said about her, I don't know, it doesn't fit."  
"You are right. It doesn't. But she was very knowable in the Dark Arts and kept some valuable artefacts in her collection. It might have been a burglary all along."

They followed Gabrielle up a beautiful staircase, into another dark hallway. Doors at each side, and at the end of it a big double door, to which Gabrielle decidedly walked. She opened the doors to reveal a beautiful sitting room, darkened by thick velvet drapes over the windows. With a motion of her wand, the curtains moved, letting the light in. Gabrielle gasped as the sun went in, revealing a hand with a wand next to it behind one of the armchairs. She moved closer to it, and the detective followed around the furniture. John manoeuvred to get by her side, finally laying his eyes on the corpse.

She was middle-aged, and very beautiful, with dark red hair tied back in a bun. John thought of a younger Minerva McGonagall while gathering the look of fear on her face, blue eyes wide open. Tears were falling from Gabrielle's cheeks as she bent down and closed her eyelids, placing a kiss on her forehead as she did it. Sherlock gave one look at the corpse, before pulling his head up and gathering his surroundings.

"We are going to need a list of the things she had in her collection, and I doubt any document we manage to acquire is going to be complete. There were many delicate items I believe she had in storage. Moran might have stolen more than one item. I don't think we are going to gather more useful information from this memory. Elle is very sharp, but here her judgement is clouded by sentiment. Notice how some things in the room seem a little blurry? I think her memory might be putting things in this room that were no longer there when she arrived. We can leave now, I've seen enough."

Sensing this was the only moment of privacy he was going to get with Sherlock in some time, John decided to speak.

"Sherlock. What was Victor talking about? How did you get those scars?"

He thought he already knew the answer, but he wanted Sherlock to confide in him.

"Torture, I told you before. I was tortured for days in Serbia before Mycroft finally came to free me. He made it sound worse than it is, John."  
"Were you ever planning to tell me? Not before, I get it, but now that I know what you are?"  
"John, old scars shouldn't be part of your concern now. Moran is slipping through our fingers, and all of us have high stakes in this case. Your family's safety should be your priority now, not wondering about some wounds that already healed."  
"Your safety is my concern, Sherlock. You _are_ family. Don't ever think that you don't matter to me."

John was not good at this. He tried to convey his feelings in those few words, looking back at Sherlock, trying to make him fix his gaze on him. Sherlock gave him a sad smile he had only seen a few times before.

"Anything else before we leave? I know all of them together can be a little..."

He seemed at lost for words at the moment.

"Intense. Yes, they can be intense when we are all together."

John decided he'd rather ask now that they were alone, even if they were using someone else's memory for it.

"Are you and Victor still together then?"

Sherlock looked surprised at the question, and he felt his piercing stare meet his eyes.

"Victor and me, well, it's a complicated venture. We are sometimes on, and most of the time off, we can't seem to make it work for the long haul. He is a loyal friend, and even though he is a prick most of the time, he is a very talented wizard, and when Victor sets his mind on something, he usually gets it done. I enjoy working with him from time to time, but we don't do well when confined together for an extended period."

His eyes trailed, and he made a sour face like he remembered some particularly unpleasant memory.

"Alissa, she is like a buffer between us. Well, she is a buffer between my meddlesome brother and me nowadays too."  
"I like her."  
"I knew you would."  
"Pity her taste in men, though."

At this, both of them laughed, and John felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He still had time. Time to sort this out, time to spend with Sherlock, even though this case could be their last.

"Yes, she said it was love at first sight. Mycroft visited in France in summer of our sixth year, and she was smitten since. I tried to convince her then it was food poisoning or something else, like a parasitic infection. Mycroft didn't realise it for years, though, and she was beginning to despair he might never notice. It took me rattling his cage a little about him being lonely to make him take in his surroundings better. He is losing his touch, old age, and too much cake, I think."

He was still smiling.

"I'll promise I'll never tell anyone you did something nice for your brother."  
"I want your word on that one, John. Shall we?"

Gabrielle was still crying next to her former boss. John touched his wand to his temple and offered Sherlock his hand. The detective grabbed it and gave it a barely perceptible squeeze.

They were back at Mycroft's office, the couple silently watching them and Victor was still leaning against the wall, fuming. John was holding Sherlock's hand when they emerged from the memory, and Victor eyed their joined hands, shooting daggers in their direction.

"Took you long enough, Miff."  
"There wasn't much of use. Mycroft, we are going to need access to Madame Delgove's archive. I think she was a target for one or more items in her collection. We need to know what Moran took."  
"It might take days. There's been a lot of fighting over her state from her surviving relatives. I've meant to tell you; she left you some old books in her will."

Sherlock looked pained for seconds before it all disappeared once again behind the facade. John wondered how much Sherlock knew the lady, and how he didn't react when he saw her dead, as Gabrielle had.

  
"She knew what I did for a living now. She might have left some clues on the books if she felt she was a target."  
"We'll get them here as soon as possible. I don't think her family will oppose her wishes, even though some of the texts she bestowed upon you are indeed valuable."

Victor seemed restless, but then his face brightened.

"While we wait we should do some planning!!"  
"We still need the information on those books to proceed, Tum Tum."  
"Not planning for the case, you moron," his American accent more pronounced each second. "For your birthday!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, Victor is an actor and into musical theater, so his pet names for his friends are all from Cats. Sherlock and Mycroft use his pet name because they secretly love theirs.


	10. Legacy and Memory

"I can't believe you are having such frivolous thoughts at the moment. After all this time, you are still looking for any excuse to indulge, always with the worst timing."  
"What can I say Miff? It's been a long time since we made a proper celebration for your birthday, with you being dead and all that, and a crime syndicate that needed dismantling. You know me, I'm a sucker for a good party. I already told Mummy I would be here, and she wants to greet her birthday boy properly."  
"You called my mother? You're so vain, is this what you had in mind as retaliation? What did we pull you from? Film or theatre this time?"  
"Film, if you must know. And you are one to talk! Vanity, thy name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes, the cleverest cat of them all!"

He was bouncing in his spot, clearly elated and thinking he was going to get his way. John had almost forgotten Sherlock's birthday was in two days. He needed to get him something since this was probably the last birthday he might be spending close to the man. Suddenly a little celebrating didn't sound so terrible, compared to what expected him after this case finished. He tried not to focus on Victor calling the Holmes matron 'Mummy'.

"We were planning a birthday dinner for you in our house, as a matter of fact. Mummy was coming anyway, but I have to admit she's dying to see you again, _mon ange_. She loved you in _Les Miz_."

Victor beamed at her at the last comment.

"Well, I needed to pull some strings for that! The woman who played Fantine started vomiting and fainting suddenly, poor thing, and I convinced the director that Victoria Vertro was a better choice than her understudy to play the role. Mac's face when he saw me on stage, priceless."  
"Yes, Mummy made me send you flowers during the intermission. I even tried to get Sherlock to switch places with me so that he could see your performance in the closing number."  
"Bullshit hon, I know you hated the whole thing. But Mummy and Daddy loved it, so it was worth the trouble."  
"The trouble you took in poisoning the poor woman?"  
"Always so clever, Miff, as a matter of fact, yes."

"Anyway, we don't have time for that. We need to review the contents of those books. Brother, when can we get them?"

"I'll need to send for them now."

He took his umbrella and pulled the handle, revealing a beautifully carved dark wand, made from Elm from tip to handle. He looked at his wife intently, and he waved his wand, producing a silvery Falcon.

"We need them, Lioncourt. My wife's office."

At this, Alissa walked to the fireplace, took the powder and disappeared.

"So we can at least have dinner then?"  
"Victor. You are insufferable."  
"No, you are. You are a total dickhead. You are going to be 35 years old in two days. You might not live to be 36 if you continue to walk your convoluted path. So just let me have this. Just dinner, with Mummy and Daddy, Mac and Griz. Hell, even John if he wants to come. He can bring his wife too."  
"Tum, just to remind you, you can't invite people to the manor as you see fit. John, you are welcome to join us, tomorrow at Percy's too if you want."  
"We are not going to Percy's, for Merlin's sake!"

John noticed how Sherlock said we, including him in whatever plan he had. He felt a little better. As Sherlock said before, all this family and friends thing with Sherlock was a bit too intense. He wasn't good at talking about or expressing feelings; he was an Englishman after all. And Sherlock's American friends had a soap opera quality to them, especially Victor. He was very expressive, his face betraying his thoughts all the time. Even John could read him, even though he barely knew the man. He wondered if that helped in his acting career. It sure wouldn't help as a metamorphmagus, all that feeling pouring out of his face. But maybe that also conveyed that he was at ease with whatever appearance he was using at the time.

Alissa reappeared through the fireplace, holding a pile of books in her hands. John moved to relieve the pregnant lady from her burden, and she smiled at him as he took half of the collection. They spread the contents over Mycroft's desk. Sherlock took one look at them and grabbed an old, battered-looking volume with no title. It didn't look valuable at all.

"This is an old alchemy text. Madame used to read me about the old alchemists, like her great-great uncle, Nicholas Flamel."

He tried to open the book, but the pages were stuck together. Sherlock worked on it a couple of times, before extending his hand to Victor. Victor looked at Mycroft, who nodded, and he pulled his wand from his robes, handing it to Sherlock.

" _Revelio_."

Nothing.

" _Specialis revelio_."

Nothing.

"Yes. I get it. _Nigredo._ "

The book glowed but didn't open.

" _Albedo_."

Glowing again.

" _Citrinitas. Rubedo._ "

The book opened, revealing a blank page. Sherlock tapped the page with the wand. The page remained blank. Sherlock smiled, as he touched the page again, this time saying,

"I'm worthy of the Magnus Opus, the doer of the Great Work."

The book glowed again, and a dark space opened in the blank page. It looked endless, and as Sherlock reached for it and placed his hand in the hole, John wanted to stop him. He pulled a book much more significant than the one now open in front of them, and Sherlock looked at it with reverence. Mycroft stood from his chair and walked to join his brother in admiring the binding, and he paled as he glimpsed at the cover.

"This can't be, there aren't any copies left in the magical world! All of them burned in the Secret Library of Alexandria."  
"It is Mycroft, she always thought of looking for it. She took years of leave, but she managed to get her hands on this. No wonder Moran was after her. He must know she had it. She was brilliant, _ma tante_. Wars started for this book. Empires crumbled."

Alissa's eyes widened, realisation hitting her suddenly.

"The Book of Emerging Forth into the Light?"  
"Yes, the real one, the complete one as a matter of fact. It was her life goal to find it. She spent years talking about it; I remember when _grand-mère_ took me to visit."  
"How? When?"  
"We can only speculate, unfortunately. We would never know, my dear. Sherlock?"  
"No. I don't know. We need Madame's journal for that."

John looked at Victor, who shrugged, just as clueless as himself.

"What is it then?"  
"This, John, is the most valuable book in the magical world. The Book of the Dead, the real thing, filled with ancient Egyptian magic, some of it the darkest magic in magical history. This book can raise the dead John, really recall their souls from beyond the veil. And a lot of other terrible things, some good, some bad, some unmentionable and unthinkable. He wanted to bring Jim back, at any cost. We interrupted him, stopped him. If he gets his hands on this, there is no stopping him."  
"Put it back, brother."

Mycroft was pale now, and Sherlock took one look at him, a worried look on his face.

"Sherlock, put it back, please. Ford, Sherlock. I... I just can't."

Sherlock's eyes widened in comprehension, and he placed the book in the hole and closed the cover from it safeguard. He tried to open it again, and when it didn't, he looked satisfied.

"Obliviate me. Please, brother."

He sat down on his chair, looking as if the world had ended. Watching the Iceman crumble was something John never thought he would witness in his lifetime. Sherlock raised Victor's wand and complied, then putting his brother to sleep. He then turned to Victor.

"I'm sorry, but I need to do it to you too. You are the worst at keeping secrets. I rather do it with your consent, but I'll do it anyway if you don't give it."  
"Since I'm wandless, and Alissa is not going to stop you, I don't see how I have much choice. But I trust you; you know that. If you say I need to forget, I'll even forget my name."

He stood tall and proud, and Sherlock performed the spell on him.

"Now, do me. But you'll have to use another wand."  
"Do what on her?"  
"Tum, shut up for a minute, we are busy. Only my wand would work on you, dearest sister, and you know it. Can you still?"  
"No, but we can wake your brother up."  
"Not just yet then. I won't do it to John, though."  
"You trust him with it?"  
"I trust him with my life."  
"Wait, what?"  
"I said busy! But I need to do you again."  
"Do what?" 

Victor emerged from his blinking and happily interrupted the discussion. Sherlock obliviated him a second time. Alissa walked to her husband's sleeping form, her face filled with pain as he reached to touch his face.

"I can't trust myself with this knowledge, _mon lapin_ , you know why. I would do anything in the world to spare him any more sorrow. I love this man enough to commit crimes against anything. So you have to do it to me too. But before that, I need to erase the memory from the room. Otherwise, I'll see it the next time I'm here. We need a powerful spell for that, and you need to give Victor back his wand. John, we are going to need you too. Victor, memory transfiguration. You lead."

Victor's eyes came back to focus, his green eye turning into an alarming shade of orange, like a cat.

"I can choose what I plant in here, then?"  
"Nothing distasteful, _mon ange_ , I'll be the one seeing it all the time."  
"And after we finish the spellwork, and we obliviate you, John needs to do me. Just a punctual obliviate. I need to forget the name again."

Alissa nodded in agreement, as tears fell from her eyes. She wiped them, pulled out her wand and said,

" _Rennervate_ "

Mycroft woke up, looking at them with surprise. One look at his wife and wonder changed into worry.

" _Mon coeur_ , listen. We need William's wand. Now."

Mycroft reached for his wand again, and waved it up and down, then sent his hand into the nothingness in front of him. His hand disappeared, and out of thin air, he produced a beautiful wand, carved with stars, made of a type of wood John didn't recognise. He gave the wand to Sherlock, who grabbed it and kissed the tip like a little boy holding his most cherished toy.

"Now, Victor, you do your thing, grab me with your left arm and wrap your wand arm around John's arm. Lift your robes so he can touch you. John, we are going to lend our magic to Victor, to empower his spell. This is a charm I invented myself, and it needs contact. Raise your wand, and make the infinite sign with it, an inverted eight-figure, while saying _Praestare mageia_."

Both men did as she said. John couldn't help to notice Victor's muscular arms as he grabbed him, and could feel his magic passing on to Victor.

" _Teneore memoria_ " he yelled.  
"Yes, everything is changing now. You are a naughty boy, _mon ange_."

Victor laughed, and John wondered what false memory he had planted in the room.

"You'll have to lend me that one, darling. Even if it's false, it'll be a hoot to watch."  
"Now, Will, do me. _Mon coeur_ , your brother is going to obliviate me. _S'il vous plaît_ , don't stop him. John and Victor, you know what to do."

They both walked to Sherlock, and each of them grabbed one arm. Well, Victor linked his fingers around his left hand, and John grabbed his wand arm just above the elbow. They both repeated the spell, John feeling a little faint as his magic drained into Sherlock as the detective touched his wand to his sister's temple and said, " _Obliviate._ "

Alissa's eyes turned violet, as they did on the memory, and then back to normal. She looked at the three men in surprise, then turned to look at her husband, who seemed interested but not worried. She relaxed and asked.

"So I needed to forget then?"  
"Yes, dearest, it seems we both needed to, as a matter of fact."

Her husband reassured her from his chair.

"All of us, from the feeling I have," Victor said happily.

Sherlock looked at John, and in understanding, John told them,

"Yes, we all needed to forget."

"Brother, I need your wand back."

John could see the compulsion spell working on Sherlock. When he handed his wand back to Mycroft, his eyes were out of focus. Mycroft pulled his wand out, and soon it was back in whatever secret compartment of Mycroft's existed in the void. As his eyes went back into focus, Sherlock grabbed the old alchemy book and started looking through the rest of the texts. He took a second book, a small blue one, and placed it in his robes. Then he set the old alchemy book into Alissa's hands.

"This is what Moran wants. You need to hide it from him, don't tell anyone, not even Mycroft, when you do. It needs to be safe."

She nodded and placed the dark book under her robes. John kept thinking this day could not end soon enough.


	11. Because It's Never Twins

Everyone was looking as weary as John felt, everyone except Victor, that is. The man looked like he was rebooted instead of obliviated.

"So I guess dinner today is out of the question, then?"  
"Clearly. Come along, John."

Mycroft's phone beeped, and he glanced at the screen, then handing the phone to his wife.

"Will. It seems your friends finally managed to get their affairs in order. We are sending them away right now. I hope you don't mind; I told them to wait at Baker Street for the pickup. That way you can say a proper goodbye this time."

Sherlock looked at her like she said something funny, apparently not understanding what a proper goodbye meant. Mycroft walked to the fireplace, and placed his head on and going through it, emerging a few seconds later. Anthea, or whatever her real name was, in wizarding robes, appeared through the flames soon after. She touched her wand to them, and they transformed into her usual muggle business attire. Apparently, Victor's charm was trendy.

"They are already on their way to Baker Street, sir. Better those two be there before they arrive."

She approached Sherlock, touching his robes, which transformed into the Belstaff. She nodded at John and walked back through the flames. Sherlock looked at John, who started walking after him. After he saw John was following, he walked into the fire.

"Goodnight John, we'll see you tomorrow, and _merci._ "  
"Alissa."

He nodded to the other two in parting, and Victor blew him a kiss goodbye.

As they arrived in Baker Street, Anthea pulled her phone out and started giving instructions to some unknown minions, probably on the muggle side, John thought. Sherlock's expression looked blank, as he collapsed on his chair and placed his hands in front of him. John sat on his chair, which was now back in its regular spot, no doubt the work of Mrs Hudson.

"You need to tell me, Sherlock."  
"Later. Are you staying? I thought you would be apparating to Cornwall tonight."

John thought that was what he really should do. However, he was too tired to answer Mary's questions about the day and the case.

"If you don't mind, I'd rather stay here tonight."  
"Of course not. Baker Street is your home as much as mine."

He seemed to realise he said a little too much, and John could see a faint blush on his usual pallor. Maybe he wasn't the only one drained by the day. Anthea moved from her spot, and they heard the door and the steps up the stairs. Escorted by two of Mycroft's agents, Greg Lestrade and Molly Hooper arrived, worried looks on both their faces. They greeted the pair and nodded at Anthea, and sat side by side on the sofa.

"So what did you got us into this time, genius?"  
"Moriarty. His second in command is not dead as we believed, Geoff."  
"Oh for God's sake, Sherlock, it's _Greg_ , and you know it. You are reaping me off my job and home, you can at least remember my name!"  
"Yes, Lestrade, duly noted. You'll both be safe if you leave tonight with Anthea."

Molly blushed, and cleared her throat, looking at Greg, who made up his mind and started speaking again.

"The thing is Sherlock, we..."

He looked lost for words. Molly decided to take matters into her own hands, quite literally, by holding Greg's hand and speaking up.

"The thing is Sherlock; we will go into hiding together or not at all."

Sherlock wasn't even surprised. John felt he ought to ask Lestrade for a pint more often.

"Of course. I was evident for me that would be the arrangement; I told my brother the first time he suggested this course of action."  
"Thanks, mate. I guess this is our cue. And good luck. Give our best to Alissa and your brother."

He extended his hand, and as Sherlock stood to shake it, he grabbed him into a hug. Molly walked and hugged him too, planting a kiss on his left cheek. Lestrade hugged John after that, and Molly just smiled at him, as she moved to take Greg's hand once again.

"I'll be personally in charge of their safety, so you should know there is nothing to worry about."

And with that, Anthea walked out, leaving the detective and the doctor alone in the flat. John was so tired; he didn't even feel hungry at all as he thought before,  though the last time he ate was a vague blur in his memory. The doctor moved to the kitchen, turned on the kettle and started to get busy making tea. He threw in some toast for good measure, dry toast because Sherlock didn't seem to have any jam. Who did his grocery shopping now? He went back into the sitting room and placed the cup in front of Sherlock.

"Now, we need to talk about that. What was that?"  
"My mind playing tricks on me. My brain has been tampered with, sometimes with magic, as you could see from the effect Mycroft's spell has on me. I've seen this information myself in my mind palace countless of time, and I refuse for it to be real when it simply is."  
"Could you elaborate? I don't have a direct line into your mind palace, Sherlock."  
"Yes. Well, this time is twins."  
"Moran is Moriarty's twin?"  
"Preposterous. No, I'm afraid I lied to you, inadvertently I might add. I've never told you what happened to my other brother."  
"Other brother? You had another brother? I thought the times Mycroft mentioned something about that he was joking."  
"No, no, just being a masochist I think. I've archived my brother in such a way in my mind, that only the mention of his name triggers the memory. It's like having a panic room in the mind palace. When someone enters the proper combination, the information flows. I didn't delete him but stored him such a way I can't access it regularly. It involves magic, a variation of obliviating and my own ability to store memories at will. Mycroft did it."

Mycroft was a fearsome thing to behold when John thought he was a muggle, and now that he knew he is such a talented wizard, well, his respect for the man increased a lot. He wasn't going to tell Sherlock that. And even now, he knew he would stand up to Mycroft if it meant helping Sherlock.

"I'm going to tell you this, and then you are going to obliviate me, John. Mind you; I only need to forget his name. His name was Sherringford Holmes. He was Mycroft's twin brother. I overlap my memories of them most of the time because they were inseparable since they were born. Sherringford was born a few minutes before Mycroft, and he was very good looking. Not as smart as Mycroft, well, not even as smart as me. They were twins, but not identical, like Fred and George, but they still had that bond. I remember I always felt like an outsider with them, because of the age difference and the bond they had."

John felt he was finally getting to the bottom of the Holmes sibling rivalry, knowing something terrible must have happened all those years ago to make a brother erase his sibling from his memory. He knew Mycroft's twin must be dead by now, or he would have seen him.

"The story is almost the same as I told you before, just adding my other brother, who received the letter the same day as his twin. They both were sorted into Slytherin at school and were inseparable. Both of them joined the Ministry, the same department. That is when things went to hell. Do you remember which department had the most number of loyal followers of Voldemort's regime in the war?"  
"I remember that the Ministry convicted many Unspeakables after the war and many of them died during the battle. But since you told me your brother is a war hero, I figured he was working for our side in the war."  
"Yes. Mycroft was, along with Severus Snape and precious few others, a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. He was never into hiding, keeping his place in the Ministry. But he revealed his cover the day of the Battle of Hogwarts. That was the day my older brother, who was a Death Eater, was sent to kill the Muggle Prime Minister and his twin had to stop him. Both of them were master duelers, and Mycroft managed to subdue him. But when he lost his wand, my brother killed himself with the muggle revolver the Prime Minister had pulled out to defend himself. Mycroft was never the same ever since."

John found himself feeling very sorry for the so-called Iceman, who in the end, cared a lot about his own family. His brothers, his wife, they made John see Mycroft in a different light. He always knew he loved Sherlock, and John couldn't even begin to imagine how much he loved his twin brother.

"So, now you see. Mycroft doesn't trust himself around the Book. And I subconsciously hate my brother because I've blamed him for many years for the death of his twin. When I let the memories out, I can see he doted on me, and was an amazing brother. He was more like my father, something he loathed nearing the end of his life. He even went the last few years as Sherringford Greengrass, rejecting my father's muggle last name. So I've blamed Mycroft for losing him all my life, and it hasn't helped that he blames himself too."  
"You shouldn't blame your brother for his twin's choices, Sherlock."  
"As I get older each day, I can see that I've been wrong most of my life. The last time I saw these memories I was 19 years old, John. I had Alissa obliviate me after a couple of days, but while I had the memories, that was the first time I overdosed. So, this time, I don't want to brood on them for much longer. I understand why Mycroft did what he did. John, please, obliviate the name for me. I need you to erase the full name I gave you and the mention of Ford in Mycroft's office today."

John pulled out his wand, pointing it at his friend for the first time. He performed the spell, and he felt good as Sherlock's unfocused eyes seemed to relax when they saw it was him. He looked completely at ease, trusting John had to do the spell, apparently recognising the magical effects. John felt humbled that the man believed in him that much.

"Well, I guess I was the last one who had to forget something today."

He grabbed his now cold tea, took a sip and grimaced. John yawned in spite of himself, even though he wanted to spend as much time with Sherlock as possible. He realised their time together was running out as they advanced in the case. He had an idea for a good birthday present for Sherlock now, but he needed to go to his flat tomorrow, preferably alone.

"Long day?"

Sherlock was looking at him with something very much like affection on his face.

"The longest ever. I'll be going to bed. You are not sleeping, aren't you?"  
"No. Madame Delglove's journal was in the pile of books. I'm going to read it, and I need to think, I'll probably require recalling every information I have about her, so my mind palace needs a proper sorting."

So Sherlock was spending a sleepless night in his mind palace, so John couldn't really help much. He dragged himself up the stairs and collapsed on the bed without changing.


	12. Dreams and Dueling

“Hey! Wait up, Oliver!”  
“Hurry up, Johnny, Old McGonagall is going to turn us into compasses this time if we are late!”  
“She won’t! They don’t use transfiguration as a punishment! She was bluffing the last time!”  
“Come along, Johnny!!”

He trailed after his friend, when his backpack chose the convenient moment to split up in two, spilling his ink all over his books and said items all over the place. Oliver was already turning the corner, exiting through the doors for the central staircase. He started to pick up his book as swiftly as possible when he saw a boy in Slytherin robes lean down and start helping him pick out his books. He was very tall, but he couldn’t be more than a third year, still, to the first year and already short for his age John Watson he was enormous.

“Here you go, ickle firstie.”

He said it in a mocking tone, but he was smiling, and John could notice he was very good looking, for a boy that is. He had a pale face with freckles, and red curls, cupid bow mouth and pale greenish eyes. His companion was behind him, tutting impatiently. He was also tall, and a little stouter, with a sour look on his face.

“Ford. We are going to be late, and here you are, fraternising with the enemy.”  
“Don’t be like that Myc; first years aren’t enemies yet!”

He winked at John, and helped him up, giving him the books he gathered. He then picked his bag, and said,

“ _Reparo_!”

He pointed his wand at the torn seams, took a glance at his books, looked again and said,

“ _Scourgify_! All set, firstie. Remember a Slytherin helped you one day when you are bent on slaughtering my team on Quidditch!”

With that, he joined his friend and left John, who started running the opposite way.

* * *

 

_The image changed. Now John was standing in the dressing rooms of the Quidditch pitch, alone, getting dressed two hours earlier for his first match on his third year at Hogwarts. He exited the Gryffindor changing room, just to bump into a boy in green robes, heading to the exit._

“Well, well, aren’t you the ickle firstie!! Well, not a firstie anymore? Looking so big now in your Quidditch robes!”

That same boy, with red curls, was smiling at him, expensive racing broom in hand.

“Er, I think you’ve got the wrong dressing room.”  
“Yes, I figured that when it didn’t let me into the actual dressing room. I guess house rivalries get on fiercely during Quidditch season and the Gryffindor team wouldn’t want me putting firepowder in their pants.”

He kept smiling as he told John that and headed for the exit.

“Your first game?”  
“Er, yes.”  
“Are you a chaser? No, no, let me guess. You have the build for a beater!”  
“Ummm…”  
“Don’t worry. I don’t care about your precious team secrets. I just love to fly. Too bad I’m only good for one thing.”

He pointed at the keeper gloves he was carrying lazily over his broom.

“Well, if you are a beater, good luck! Chasers have a horrible time trying to score through me.”

He started laughing, a deep chuckle that startled John.

Once again the image changed. This was fourth year John Watson, panting, Oliver Wood beside him, after a close call in the Forbidden Forest.

“Do you think anyone saw us, Ollie?”  
“Shhh, someone is coming!”

Two figures in dark robes with green walked side by side, each whispering loudly.

“Why are you meeting with this people Ford? I thought we talked about it!”  
“These people, as you call them, are my friends Myc! I thought you, of all people, would be happy of me having friends beside you!”  
“This is different, and you know it. We are half-bloods, for Merlin’s sake!”  
“They don’t care!! You know the Dark Lord is a half-blood too? They only care that you have vision and want to work for the cause. We are almost 18 now! We will soon be adults, and we have to choose a side!”  
“Ford, please, our Father.”  
“Our Father is a filthy muggle, you idiot.”

They heard a slap, and John was able to see the red-haired Slytherin boy running, holding his face. Standing alone, his friend, no, _his brother_ , was staring at his hand, as if he didn’t believe what he had just done.

* * *

 

John awoke in a sweat, as he took a minute to take in his surroundings. He was in his room at Baker Street, and it was already morning. The doctor took a moment to analyse his dream. Of course, he now knew he remembered Sherringford Holmes. How could a sweet boy like that end up a Death Eater? And the look on Mycroft’s face when he slapped his twin. Of course, he didn’t remember Mycroft from school, the Mycroft he knew had no real friends, was a real loner, before he knew about Alissa, that is. You couldn’t see red-haired Slytherin boy at school anywhere but the Quidditch pitch without his twin brother.

He decided to leave the bed finally, walking the stairs in the same clothes he wore the day before. Sherlock was on the sofa now, quietly brooding, with his hands as in prayer near his chin. John knew saying good morning wouldn’t produce any response now, so he busied himself making tea and getting biscuits out of a tin. John placed a cup near Sherlock, and sat in his chair, drinking his tea quietly. He needed to see his wife in Cornwall. He told Sherlock so, getting no reply again. He sighed, took his wand out and apparated out of the flat.

He reached the cottage quickly, even though he had never been there before. Dennis Creevey was sitting in the front garden and waved at him from his guarding post. John acknowledged him back and entered through the front gate into the front yard. It was a beautiful place, with a beautiful rose bush in front. He went into the cottage and found Mary having breakfast with Gabrielle in small, but well stocked, modern kitchen. He greeted his wife, and he felt her stiffen a little when he bowed down to kiss her cheek.

“Nice to see you Doctor Watson, as you can see, your wife is being cared for.”

Gabrielle spoke with a beautiful voice, almost no accent at all.

“Thank you, Miss Delacour.”  
“Call me Elle, please.”  
“Elle, can you please give us a mo?”  
“Sure, I’ll be in the seating room if you need me.”

Mary’s eyes widened as Gabrielle rose from her chair and left, tracing her every movement until she was out of the room. John started a short version of the work they did the day before, leaving the details of the actual case out. Then he asked Mary about the cottage, and about Gabrielle and Dennis. He wanted her to be comfortable, well, as much as she could be away from her home and in hiding. Mary’s answers were short and to the point. She then told him she wanted to join Gabrielle in the sitting room, basically cutting any private conversation with John on the root. She seemed to visibly relax when she was sitting with the blond witch as if she felt safer with her than with John. Possibly the veela charm, and still some resentment at her husband.

He spent the rest of the morning trying as best he could to appease her, to no avail, and when Gabrielle asked the doctor to join them for lunch, he declined. He felt his wife needed space from him still, and he would try to give her at least that. John said his goodbyes, and as soon as he stepped out of the gate, he called Mycroft on his cell phone. He remembered the man preferred to talk, instead of texting.

“John. Trust you found your wife well.”

All-knowing Mycroft was insufferable.

“Yes, er, is it safe to go to my flat? I need to get some of my things.”  
“It’s probably safe, but I advise you against going alone. You could go retrieve my brother from Baker Street; he is probably still in the same position you left him, you know.”  
“If I have to go with someone, I rather someone else joins me this time.”

He could picture Mycroft’s eyebrow rising on the other side of the telephone.

“Very well. Alissa is out with Harry, and Anthea is otherwise occupied, as you know. Victor can go with you.”

Great. Evening plans with Victor Trevor. This day was getting better and better.

“That’s ok, tell him to meet me in ten minutes in Regent's Park.”

He apparated on a safe spot he knew near Regent's Park, and he started walking. In the distance, he saw the tall man in a very posh suit and a Burberry coat with the checker pattern. He beamed at John and waved.

“Well, hello Doctor Watson! I was wondering when you would fancy a date with me! Lunch? My treat!”

He winked at John, and he could see both his eyes were blue, as he wore them at the wedding party. Also, he was smaller again. He was indeed a very handsome man, and he had a pleasant expression. John didn’t know how long he could manage to hate the man. He grabbed John’s arm with his right hand and steered away from the park into a cafe.

“They have an amazing Chai here, and the sandwiches are fantastic.”

John wasn’t in the mood for eating, but he was hungry, having eaten only stale biscuits and tea since the day before. He ordered the first thing he saw on the menu and proceeded to stare at the man seating across him.

“Don’t be like that. Since we have interests in common, I thought we could at least be friends.”

The server came with John’s coffee and his Chai, almost melting when Victor threw his angelic smile at her. Victor chattered non stop about his work, and Sherlock, and his study of transfiguration, and Sherlock, his bond with Alissa’s family, and Sherlock, and his mother, and Sherlock, and Mrs Hudson, and Sherlock. John was starting to feel dizzy. The man was a chatterbox, and he didn’t seem to mind if John was paying him attention or not. He grabbed the bill before John could move to reach it, and gave the waiter an obscene tip. She almost bowed as she escorted them out of the cafe.

“By the way, I wanted to do something for you, you know, showing my goodwill and waving a white flag?”  
“What?”

They walked to a safe spot for apparition, and Victor pulled out his wand. He then touched John’s grey jacket with it, transforming it into a set of brand new wizarding robes, wine coloured with gold trim, that seemed tailored especially for John.

“I had this made for you today. I’ve just transfigured the original pair into your jacket. Now you can do this.”

He tapped his wand on the robes, and they morphed back into the jacket.

“You shouldn’t have.”  
“Well, we can’t have you wearing something like that god awful jumper you were sporting yesterday. The robes suit you. They are almost your house colors, but I thought wine would be a little soberer, you know, a little darker than scarlet.”

John was frowning. He wasn’t about to start accepting gifts from almost strangers, and he almost told Victor that, before he placed a hand near his mouth, stopping him from speaking.

“Come on! Griz told me she welcomed you into our family. So just think of them as a gift from, I don’t know, an annoying cousin.”

He gave John his impish grin, and John felt like punching him in the mouth. I guess he felt the danger because he started pouting.

“Pretty please. If you don’t like the robes, just don’t touch the jacket with your wand. They could be useful, though. If you prefer, I could do the same with your robes instead.”

John sighed, and reached to grab the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Victor took it as a sign of victory, because he caught John’s arm again, carefully showing him he was using his right hand once more.

“I don’t know where we are going, so you’ll have to take me side-along.”  
“Fine.”

They apparated into an alley, three blocks from John and Mary’s flat. Victor continued chattering as they walked, and John grabbed his key and entered the flat. It looked just as he remembered, so that meant Moran wasn’t looking for anything hidden there. He left Victor in the sitting room, looking around and grabbing pictures from the mantelpiece as if he was visiting some long lost relative. John climbed the stairs to his and Mary's bedroom, and opened the closet door, retrieving a box from the bottom of it. He grabbed it, and a few of his muggle clothes, and placed the whole bunch in a travel bag.

He found Victor looking at one of the pictures from his and Mary’s wedding, the one with the whole wedding party in it. Sherlock was in it, standing close to John.

“Miff looks so sad in this picture.”

John looked surprised. To him, Sherlock seemed his usual self, a little lost, but nowhere near sad.

“You think?”  
“Oh, yeah, can’t you see it? Mmmm, I bet you can’t. He looks lost. A lost Miff is a sad Miff. I could give you a ‘Miff expressions 101’ if you need it, hon.”  
“Don’t think I’ll be needing it, thanks.”

He said the last bit in a cutting tone. They heard movement, and in a second Victor spun around,

“John, look out! _Protego_!”

The spell bounced from the shield charm, and John took out his wand quickly. A bald man, with dark skin and grey eyes, was staring at them, and the trio started duelling without much preamble. John could see all the curses his opponent was sending them were killing curses.

“I thought you were dead and buried, you dick!”

A cold voice, that seemed far away even as he was standing just a couple meters from them, replied,

“Guess again.”

He continued to send killing curses their way, and they managed to retreat behind one of the couches. Victor crouched, leaving John to fend away their opponent, as he sent a silvery raven away. A few minutes that seemed like hours later, Alissa appeared right behind the man and grabbed his wand arm, her eyes turning violet. The man spun, and pushed her back, raising his arm immediately to retaliate. At this, Victor leapt from his place behind the couch and yelled,

“ _Avada Kedravra_!”

The man’s corpse fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry! But he was going to kill you Griz!”  
“I know, _mon ange_ , it’s not your fault, I wasn’t fast enough. _Mon lapinet_ is slowing me a little.”

Victor ran to her, stepping on the dead man’s body on the way, and helped Alissa up from the floor. She patted her belly self consciously, like trying to reassure herself her child was unharmed.

“I know we needed him alive, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t…”

This time it was John who spoke up.

“You did the right thing, Victor. He only threw killing curses our way. He was planning to kill Alissa right there.”

Victor gave John a rare look, like reassessing everything he knew about him once again. He looked positively elated at John’s positive comment and praise. He then bent over the body, and he started muttering things, as spells appeared from the tip of his wand.

“No transfiguration, or metamorphic magic whatsoever. This body is dead. I guessed we missed another chance. But you managed to touch him, yes?”  
“Yes, dear cherub, I did. Now we have to wait.”  
“Wait for what, if you don’t mind explaining?”  
“For a vision. I focused my seer powers on him when I touched him. I’ll get something soon enough. In the meantime,” she pulled out the coin John remembered from the pensieve memory and turned it three times.

Three wizards in Auror robes appeared, wands out and assessing the situation. They saw Alissa, and the dead body, and assumed soldier like positions, awaiting orders.

“Madame Deputy Head”, one of them greeted Alissa.

She waved him off and said “Retrieval. Take the body into the Department of Mysteries. Alert my husband, Harry, and the investigation team. I’ll give a full account as soon as I get back into the office.”  
“Yes, ma'am.”

One of them touched the body, disapparating with it, and the other two left just after him.

“So you are Deputy Head of the Auror office?”

Alissa smiled at John, and said,

“Yes. I was offered the post after Ron Weasley decided to leave to run the joke store with his brother. I’d been looking for a permanent post in London, so it was a good move career-wise. I was working at MACUSA and the CIA at the time. I had to obliviate people in the muggle world to disappear, though. MACUSA was not as hard to leave.”

John was starting to see what Sherlock saw in his friends. They were very talented, and also loyal. He would have loved to meet them in different circumstances.

“I need to go back to the office; I trust you two will be fine?”  
“Yes, thanks, Griz. You saved my ass once again.”  
“I could say it was the other way around, my dear. See you both later.”

She moved to kiss both John and Victor on the cheek, Victor offering her both cheeks. When they were alone, John looked at Victor and said,

“Thanks, mate. You saved my life.”  
“I guess I can call you John now? Johnny?”  
“John. And yes.”  
“You can trust me with your back, you know. A friend of Miff is always a friend of mine, and now you are family.”  
“I guess.”

And John extended his hand for him to shake. Victor reached with his right hand, but John shook his head.

“The _other_ hand, Victor.”

Now the look on Victor’s face was priceless.


	13. Tiger and the Not so Expected Patronus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and John get to know each other a little better, and Sherlock doesn't have to like it. John manages to surprise him once again.

Victor kept looking at him apprehensively, as he couldn’t believe what John was offering him. John held his extended hand, waiting for the man to make up his mind.

“Why?”  
“Because I trust you now, and it can be useful.”  
“Well then, wow. Thanks, I guess?”

He touched his wand to his clothes, and he changed into wizarding robes, a little longer than the coat he was wearing before. Then he morphed into the taller man with mismatched eyes, the real Victor Trevor.

“It has to be me, you see. A bit of forewarning to anyone who knows what I can do. I  mostly acquire this ability voluntarily, as you are giving it to me now. I thought it was fair that I needed to be myself to do it. Many trained wizards will recognize me, so at least they know who they’re facing. It evens the playing field a little.”

John chuckled, and Victor looked at him, surprise and apprehension still on his face.

“That is not what I imagined you would be like at all.”

He shrugged at the comment and extended his left hand, in which John noticed a beautifully carved golden ring, with the letter T in cursive. It was bigger than a standard band, in fact, it seemed like several rings, each which a feather carving that reminded John of a phoenix’s tail.

“Interesting ring.”

He commented as he finally shook the man’s left hand. He didn’t feel any different, and he just barely noticed Victor’s green eye changing into the cat-like orange he had the day before.

“This old thing? I love it. T for Thunderbird. That was our house at Ilvermony. Alissa has a silver band on her right ring finger, with the T and the feathers, much more discrete than this one.”  
“Thunderbird?”  
“It’s named after a magical creature, much like a phoenix, that you can see only in America. My father was British, like his father, but his mother was American, and they moved around a lot, so he attended Ilvermony. It was his house too. This ring and this”- he pulled out his wand, jet black with beautiful polished wood -“are my favorite things in the whole world. Both heirlooms, mind you, this wand chose me after choosing my father, his mother before that. It has been in my family since the early 1900’s. This wand is called a Wolfe wand. Wolfe was a Native American wandmaker, and his wands have Thunderbird core. This one is ebony, and one of the last ones that still exist in the magical world.”

He gave John his wand, and John examined it, judging by Victor’s tale it was a priceless magical artefact.

“You should try it sometime. Miff told me you were very skilled in Transfiguration when you were younger. Earning the praise of Minerva McGonagall was never easy, trust me, I know, she edits everything I publish for Transfiguration Today. She still calls my endeavors at transfiguration in fashion a total waste of time. Showed you mine, now show me yours?”

He asked John with the impish grin, no doubt some innuendo in his mind. John gave the man his wand, and he looked at it once, grabbed it, felt the balance of it, before asking John.

“I’ve never been very good at identifying wand woods, what is it made of? The core is dragon heartstring, I can feel it.”  
“Rowan.”  
“You’ve got to be shitting me. Seriously? Rowan?”

And he started laughing, and John was almost angry when he stopped. He gave John back his wand, before adding,

“So fate it is.”  
“What are you blabbing about?”  
“Wandlore is a complicated brand of magic John. I’m not much of a connoisseur. But I know one thing, people who favor elder wands feel attraction and affinity to those chosen by rowan wands.”  
“Aren’t elder wands unlucky wands?”

Victor poofed at the comment.

“I guess they are; you could say that. Unlucky, complicated wands, with unlucky, complicated owners. We of all people should know!”

He smiled back at John, and now John was confident he knew now whose wand was an elder one.

“Add a phoenix tail to the mix, and we have the perfect wand for the most unusual man in the world.”  
“You two could compete for the title.”  
“Nah, we do compete for the most insufferable man in the world, though.”  
“I’m not challenging that.”

John smiled at Victor, who was looking at him with much more interest as the day advanced.

“So, where to now? I guess you want to drop that back at Baker Street.”  
“Actually, would you mind if I went to Diagon Alley before? Do we need to leave together?”

Victor beamed at him before adding,

“I’m not letting you out of my sight! Griz would murder me slowly if I did, so I could definitely go shopping with you! We could go to Madam Malkin’s! Show her how your new robes fit! Maybe we could pick up another pair or so!”  
“Victor, I’m not a dress up toy for you.”  
“Well, still it wouldn’t hurt to look.”  
“No.”  
“It’s on the way!”  
“You don’t know where I’m going!”  
“It’s Diagon Alley! Everything is on the way.”  
“No. That’s final.”  
“Fiiiine. Are you always this contrary?”

John didn’t dignify that comment with an answer. He tapped his wand into his jacket, which morphed into the wine-coloured robes again.

“See? Useful.”  
“Shut up.”  
“Can we do side along again? I’m bored, so I’ll probably wind up in Siberia if I do it alone.”

_God, no,_ thought John, _another man with boredom issues_. He grabbed Victor’s arm without one more word, and apparated them just at the front step of the Leaky Cauldron, away from the eyes of prying muggles. John waved at Zack as they passed through the pub, and he wondered why he didn’t felt the usual dread as he walked through the old floor. John tapped the bricks, and they walked into the well-lit alley.

“I need to buy a potion.”  
“Potion or potion ingredients?”  
“Potion.”  
“Miff can make any potion you need.”  
“Well, Miff can’t see this bloody potion I need.”  
“Ooohhh!!! Birthday present!!! I can help.”  
“Not needed, thanks.”  
“Is it a love potion?”  
“Why on this earth would you think it’s a love potion??”

John was going to murder this man, and no one could blame him.

“No reason. If it is, we should go to the Weasleys’ place. I heard their selection is terrific.”  
“It’s not a love potion, Victor. Grow up.”

Victor made a motion to his mouth, like a zipper, and remained mercifully quiet until they reached the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

“Ohhhh! A full Tornados uniform! I love it! I’ve always been a sucker for men in Quidditch robes.”  
“You played?”  
“No, never, I preferred to watch. You?”  
“Yes, at school. My best friend from Hogwarts was a professional Quidditch player ‘til a few years ago; he is now a coach.”  
“Which team?”  
“Puddlemere United.”  
“Rubbish team. They had a decent keeper a couple of years ago, though. He played for England as well, I think. I’ve always rooted for team USA in the cup.”

They talked Quidditch for a while, Victor seemed surprisingly knowable, and John had been out of the loop for so long that he enjoyed catching up. He reached the store he was looking for and bought the potion while Victor was distracted looking at potted Venomous Tentaculas. Then Victor demanded to know what he had bought, and John refused, so he pouted as John steered them all the way to Flourish and Blotts.

“Oooh, Miff would love a good book.”  
“We are buying the book for me, and you are helping.”  
“Oh, so _I_ can help now?”  
“Yes, you git, I need the book about skin healing you were talking about.”  
“Yes!!!! That would be amazing! I’m taking full credit for that!”  
“You can do the spell yourself, then.”  
“Bad form, Johnny.”  
“John.”  
“Well, I’m calling you Tiger from now on.”  
“Don’t even think about that.”  
“You are Tiger, the pirate cat, don’t argue.”  
“Sod off.”

Victor managed to look offended, then started browsing through the books, before grabbing one and placing it in John’s hands.

“This will have all you need to know.”  
“See? That was easy, you know, being helpful and quiet.”  
“Fuck off.”

John felt strangely comfortable bossing around the handsome man. He felt reminded of another man, who also seemed to be in charge all the time, but was bossed around by John, sometimes. I felt strangely hollow, like a space in his chest that couldn’t be filled by anything else.

“Now you’re brooding. Knut for your thoughts?”  
“I was thinking how peaceful it was when you shut your mouth.”  
“You are an evil man, Johnny. Positively rude.”  
“Yes, I’m rude, and evil, and you are an overgrown child.”  
“Touché. I guess we’ll be going to Baker Street now? Aren’t you hungry? Can we stop to eat?”

It was nice to have someone around who ate at all. They grabbed a quick bite at the Leaky Cauldron, Victor giving John gossip about the patrons, all of them he seemed to know from somewhere. Some people waved at him as they left or passed through, it appeared the man was a social butterfly. John insisted on grabbing a shepherd’s pie to go to take back to Baker Street, even though he knew Sherlock probably wouldn’t touch it. It was already dark when they left the pub, and John grabbed Victor’s arm before he asked and apparated them both into the kitchen in Baker Street. Sherlock jumped from his chair and grabbed John by his arms, almost shaking him, fear in his eyes, looking up and down, assessing for any damage.

“Why didn’t you answer my texts? Where were you all day? Are you hurt?”

Sherlock didn’t seem to register Victor standing next to John, and as the other man cleared his throat, Sherlock saw him and only managed to harden his grip on John’s arms.

“Easy does it, Miff. We were bringing some stuff from John’s flat. No doubt Alissa already told you what happened today.”  
“Yes, she told me you here coming straight back here! Straight back! _Where in hell have you been_?”  
“Oh, just doing this and that. We brought you food.”  
“You had the chance to eat, and neither of you could check your sodding phones?”

John was strangely calm as he reached for his phone. His new robes didn’t help him feel the vibration, and the thing was in silent mode. 54 new texts. John read a couple of them, all along the lines of

_‘Come back to Baker Street – SH’_ and _‘Where are you? – SH’_ and _‘I’m going to call Mycroft on you – SH’_.

Victor pulled out his phone and grimaced, no doubt his texts were a little more colourful.

“No need to worry, he’s back in one piece. We were in a very public place, not easy to mount attacks in crowded streets. You know how it gets, with wizarding robes, hard to feel a phone vibrating. We happened to be enjoying ourselves.”

At this, Sherlock released John and went to grab Victor instead.

“Enjoying yourselves? Enjoying? You almost got murdered today! You are a total wanker, the most conceited, insufferable, excuse for a wizard…”

Victor kissed him, a full-blown kiss on the lips, grabbing both his arms to prevent Sherlock from beating him senseless. John didn’t even feel bothered like the last time. If anything, that would shut them both up. He was starting to feel the events of the day, draining him. Still calmed, he walked to the kettle and started heating the water for some tea. The kiss lasted like three seconds before Sherlock managed to free himself from Victor’s grip, after which he was left red and furious, muttering curses and insults directed at Victor. He threw a glance at John, and his calm demeanour only seemed to infuriate him more. John searched through the cabinets, found the only three clean cups left and started to make tea. He then moved some papers and instruments and placed a cup in front of each man. Victor grabbed his and started drinking, setting his back against the wall. Sherlock only glared at the mug, as if he was blaming tea for all that was wrong with the world.

"You make a mean cuppa, Johnny," said Victor in a mock British accent.

“Ta, mate. I’m going to take my things upstairs. You boys settle this before I come back.”

He grabbed his bag and started taking the stairs two at a time. He closed the door, then pulled out the box and the supplies he got at Diagon Alley. Opening the small box revealed pictures. Lots of them. Of him and Sherlock, from press clippings and casual shots around the flat, most of them taken by Mrs Hudson. He opened the cap of the potion vial and poured a drop on one of the pictures. The still came alive, Sherlock with a smug look on his face on a press conference, John looking at him with a smile, then a question from one of the reporters, and both of them laughing. He took another picture, this one of him sitting on his chair while Sherlock played the violin and placed the second drop. Sherlock started moving, his bow going up and down, and you could see where John dropped the newspaper he was reading and started listening. He changed all of the pictures into magical portraits, many of them showed them laughing, some of them just depicted random domestic bliss. Because it was bliss, while it lasted. He grabbed an empty diary he bought and started placing the pictures in it, just by touching them with his wand, transforming the journal into a scrapbook. It was almost full soon enough, and he wondered if that was enough time elapsed for those two to stop jumping at each other’s throats. He considered just staying upstairs, but he was not one to hide from conflict. With a sigh at his finished endeavour, he closed the book and placed it back in his travel bag, heading downstairs. He stopped midway as he heard their voices.

“What are you saying?”  
“I’m just saying I get it now, Miff.”  
“That. I don’t see what you get.”  
“I get why you like him. He is amazing. And you thought that before you knew he was like us. I get it, I see it, and it’s ok.”  
“And what do you suppose in that small brain of yours is ‘ok’?”  
“Whatever you want, I guess. Hell, if I had a chance, I’d want something too.”  
“You moron. Whatever you are implying, get it out of your brain. He is my friend. He is my _married_ friend. A friend that has stated many times, in front of me I might add, that he is not gay.”

Victor chuckled, and added,

“Pleeeease Miff, even a blind man can see that the man is not completely straight either. He has been checking me out, for crying out loud, though I don't blame him. The man is at least attracted to men on some level. So I’m just saying I see why you like him, and I wouldn’t mind being on all fours for a man like that. I wouldn’t mind even if he had a Venomous Tentacula kink or something like that. So that’s that, and there's no need to be mad about it.”  
“John, stop listening on other people’s conversations, it’s a rather rude habit to pick up.”

Of course, Sherlock would notice he was listening. He probably heard the moment John stopped at the stairs. John cleared his throat, appearing before the pair. So, this is it, he thought. John wasn’t anything if not brave, so it was time to clear the air a little.

“Sherlock is right Victor, I’m married, about to be a father soon.”

Sherlock was throwing his best ‘I told you so’ look Victor’s way, as John decided to add.

“But Victor is right; I’m not gay.”

Directing himself now at Victor, he told him,

“Pity you talk so much.”

Victor was smiling at him now.

“You could gag me. Pity you’re married, though, Tiger.”

He almost purred the last word. Sherlock looked like someone had punched him hard in the stomach.

“So, enough of that. What have you been up to? Deduced anything from the lady’s journal by now?”

Sherlock managed to gather his wits back somehow.

“No deduction needed. Madame Delcourt recorded a detailed account of her findings in the journal. She also knew who was after her and why. My aunt left it for me, to safe keep. It won’t help us catch the man.”

Victor sighed at the last bit.

“I’m going to end up dead, aren’t I? I should have known something like that was up when my Patronus changed. After all, that’s how you call a group of crows. Well, as much as I enjoy present company, I shouldn’t spend my last days on this earth away from other people in my family. It’s time to pay auntie a visit.”

With that, he touched his wand to his robes, at the same time that he transformed into the petite blond woman John knew as Victoria Vertro. She blew a kiss to Sherlock, and stopped to kiss John on both cheeks. John let her do it, neutral look on his face. She walked out of the door, and they soon heard noises downstairs, a happy shout of ‘ _My baby_!’ from their landlady.

“Victor's Patronus changed?”  
“Yes, emotional turmoil can do that sometimes. It happened as we where dismantling Moriarty’s network. One day, the usual Thunderbird he was so proud about, then just like that he produced a raven. He thinks it’s a crow and a bad omen for him.”  
“Can you tell one from the other? Aren’t ravens and crows basically the same bird in appearance?”  
“You can tell them apart when they sing, and Patronuses are usually silent unless they are conveying a message from the caster, and even if they take the form of a bird, you couldn’t tell the difference in this case without the singing. Since he fancies himself American, it’s a crow for him. I always thought it morphed into a raven because he finally had shown his real self.”  
“Sorry?”  
“The Patronus charm is a complicated bit of magic, and it reveals a lot about the one who casts it. I just thought he had matured out of the Thunderbird. It’s rare for someone to have a magical creature as a Patronus. Some consider ravens a kind of ‘bird of prey’, even though it isn’t so, and his relationship with my brother and sister could have affected him into changing some of his nasty habits. You probably didn’t notice, but both my sister’s and Mycroft’s Patronuses are birds of prey. Theirs have remained unchanged since they first managed to cast the charm. Mummy said once their Patronuses showed they were meant to be together, or some other sentimental nonsense.”

John had produced a Patronus a couple of times before, while fighting in the Wizarding War, grasping on memories of his time with Oliver and his family. He wasn’t even sure he could produce a corporeal Patronus now even if he tried. Happy memories were hard to come by these days. On a whim, he pulled out his wand, focusing on the memories he just spent arranging together in the scrapbook.

“ _Expecto patronum_ ,” he said softly.

A pale fox hound emerged from his wand, turning around him as if it was greeting him. John paled because this was the first time he saw his Patronus in this particular shape. Sherlock sent alternating looks at the silvery figure, then at John, clearly something on his mind.

“That’s a fox hound.”  
“I could see that for myself. It changed. Mine changed too.”

He lost his focus, and the silvery figure disappeared before his eyes. Sherlock’s face was closed, and John thought he could see the gears in his brain at work. He then walked out of the kitchen into the living room. John followed and sat on his chair.

“And now?”  
“Alissa said she managed to touch him. She will be getting a vision of him soon, and we’ll have a second chance at catching him alive.”  
“So now we wait?”  
“Now we wait.”

He grabbed his violin and started playing, a mournful tune that John recognised. He settled in his chair, wondering about his new Patronus, as the night went by with only the violin music in the background. Sherlock was still playing when he finally decided to call it a night, the music from downstairs lulling him into a troubled sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always loved the many theories surrounding the patronus charm you can find everywhere on the web. There is a blog on Tumblr I love,[@patron-a-bum](http://patron-a-bum.tumblr.com/), if you want to see a nice patronus analysis. So a group of crows is called a murder sometimes, that's why my dear Victor, drama queen extraordinaire, thinks his life is in danger. I think I love him too much to kill him. I'm just a sucker for the magical history bits they keep adding on Pottermore, so the housing at Ilvermony was prompted by a leaked Pottermore secret code. The Wikia has been updated since and you can see the houses [here](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Ilvermorny_School_of_Witchcraft_and_Wizardry)


	14. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what happened on Sherlock's Birthday.

_January 6th, 2016. 8:00 hrs._

John woke up after a night of restless sleep. He kept dreaming about the fall, and almost walked down the stairs a couple of times to check on Sherlock. As soon as the sun entered his room, he decided enough was enough and went downstairs. He heard the shower running, no doubt Sherlock had another sleepless night. He started ransacking the cupboards to make tea; we and realised they were out of tea and milk. Well, he was fully dressed, so a run to the store could benefit him, clear his head a little. He opened the door to 221B, and he could see Victoria standing in the hallway, a takeaway bag and coffee cups on her hands. She was wearing a different dress than the night before, but her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy like she also had a sleep-deprived night.

“Good morning, sunshine. Had to make a run for some coffee. Auntie is feeling a little indisposed; I think we abused her herbal soothers a little last night. I brought coffee and croissants for you boys. Had to get her some more soothers, since we went through her stash last night.”

Ah, so hungover, not sleep deprived. Coffee and pot for their landlady. So be it. Her cell phone rang.

“Hello? Irene. Yes. It’s three in the morning back home! Yes, yes, I know it’s morning here. You know where I am? Yes. No. I’ll try! No, I’ve not finished here yet. Call the producer, make something up. I’ll make it worth your while, darling. No, you _can’t_ tie me up like the last time. _Yes_. See you soon.”

She hung up, a concerned look on her face.

“Tie you up?”  
“My agent. She thinks it’s funny when she threatens to use her abilities on me.”  
“Wait. _Irene_? Your agent’s name is Irene? By any chance Irene Adler?”  
“The one and only. She is the best agent I’ve ever had. Ruthless. I’ve been making more money and getting the best jobs since she started with me.”

John chuckled at the statement, well, interesting to know she wasn’t dead. No doubt Sherlock was to blame for the unusual pairing. No doubt Mycroft already knew she wasn’t dead or did he?

“You don’t live in London, then?”  
“No. I’m currently living in New York, but I have a place in LA as well. And I also keep my family place in the Hamptons. Whenever I stay in London, I stay at Mac’s place. He is like a big brother to me.”  
“Another posh git, go figure.”  
“Oh, can it, darling. Irene is going to murder me if this case goes on for too long. I was in the middle of a shoot in Arizona when Mac called. I see you are back wearing those disgraceful jumpers.”  
“They are comfy.”

His phone beeped.

_‘Your wife is going into premature labour. Apparate near the Portland Hospital as soon as possible – Elle.’_

He felt sick as soon as he read the text.

“Can’t be. It’s too soon.”

He mentally started going through the calculations in his mind. 34 weeks? The baby was going to be small, and she may have respiratory distress.

“What’s wrong sweetie?”  
“Wife went into labour. Get Sherlock; we are leaving.”

She ran the stairs, just to almost bump into Sherlock, who was already wearing his Belstaff and scarf, no doubt Mycroft alerted him as soon as John got the message.

“Good, you are ready Miff, we are leaving.”  
“We?”  
“Hell yes! I’m going too!”

John was eerily quiet, as he reached for both Victoria and Sherlock’s arm. Portland, Portland. He searched his memory for the best place for apparition, an alley near the main entrance. He soon apparated them, and they started running to the revolving doors of the emergency room. Portland was a beautiful place, one of the best private Hospitals in London, and he internally blessed Mycroft for having the best care available for his wife and baby. They reached the reception in minutes, and soon they were moved into the maternity ward. Gabrielle was standing outside a private room, and so were Mycroft and Alissa.

“The delivery was fast; she is a small baby. She is doing fine, they decided to intubate more as a precaution than anything, and they gave her a dose of surfactant. She had an echocardiogram and a brain ultrasound, and so far everything seems fine. Mary’s blood pressure was dangerously elevated, so they decided to go forward with labour rather than hold it.”

Mycroft spoke to John in a calm, reassuring voice, and John was thankful to have so many people worrying about the welfare of his child and wife, more than he ever expected considering the circumstances. His family circle was so limited, seeing all of them with worried faces and Mycroft with all his calm knowledge and demeanour, leaning a little on his umbrella as he spoke, was almost too much for him. Victoria moved and grabbed his hand, and John let her. Sherlock was pacing the hallway, irradiating anxiety, making small motions with his fingers, mimicking a cigarette.

“Where are they?”  
“The baby is in the NICU, as a precaution, _cher_. Mrs Watson is through this door, but they sedated her. She has a blood pressure monitor on. You can go in.”

John walked into the room, closing the door behind him. Mary was asleep in her bed, looking peaceful and relaxed. John checked the monitor, her heart rate and blood pressure were back to normal ranges. He felt a pang in his chest. John should have been there for his wife; he should have been by her side as she pushed their baby into the world. The room was big, and he moved a chair to sit by his wife, holding the hand not attached to any monitor.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

He stroked the hand he was holding for what seemed like ages. Mary slept quietly, and he was lost in thought until he heard a soft knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Victoria appeared through the door. She seemed hesitant, like waiting for further permission. She stayed in the doorway rather than walking in; no doubt thinking interruption would not be acceptable.

“We were wondering, honey if you wanted to see your baby girl.”

John let go of his wife’s hand reluctantly and strolled out of the room. Gabrielle stayed guarding Mary’s door, as the rest of them moved down the hallways into the lift, no doubt aided by Mycroft’s influence because five people going into a NICU waiting room was a bit too much. There was a window separating the incubators from the general public.

The neonatologist walked out of the room, and Mycroft went to speak to her, sending her to John. She looked very professional, a no-nonsense kind of woman.

“Dr Watson, I presume? And are all these people family members?”  
“Yes. Tell me, how is my baby doing?”  
“She is doing well. We only intubated her for the dose of surfactant, and now she has a clear halo to aid with her breathing. She is only an hour old, though, so we need to observe her closely for a couple of days. I heard her mother was doing well, and when she wakes she can come and visit the baby. Do you want to go in? There are clean gowns through this door, and a sink for hand washing and gloves.”

John followed her instructions to the letter, and he went to meet his daughter. She was small, and he could see scarce blond hair, so blond it was almost white. Her skin was pale and wrinkled, and John thought she was the most fragile and most beautiful thing in the whole world. The doctor was standing next to him, and told him,

“You can touch her. It’s better if you don’t hold her yet, but you can touch her.”

She opened the side of the incubator, and John placed his fingers over his baby’s chest. He could feel her heartbeat, fast and steady.

“We don’t even have a name for you yet, beautiful.”

The lights from the incubator started flicking, and the doctor looked worried for a second. John took his hand out, and the lights went back to normal. It’s been ages since he lost his control and produced involuntary magic, but, strangely, he didn’t even feel it go through him.

“Do you want to stay? You can, for a while, but soon rounds will start. If she continues as good at this, we can move her to intermediate care after a few days, and visiting hours there would be longer.”  
“Just for a few more minutes, please.”

He watched his daughter sleep peacefully, a feeding tube into her mouth and clear halo sending oxygen, helping her immature lungs breathe.

“See you soon, princess.”

The lights flickered again at the sound of John’s voice. Watson, get a grip, he thought. Everyone was still waiting for him.

“She is going to be a beauty, _cher_ , congratulations.”  
“I see she has the family complexion; the hair is recessive.”

Mycroft was looking at his baby through the window, arm around his wife’s waist.

“Sorry, what?”  
“Oh, I dug around a little to see if you had any wizarding ancestors. I was able to find that your father’s mother was the daughter of Septimus Malfoy. It seems that when he was younger, he had an affair with a Muggle teenager. Your grandmother was the result. You are a descendant of one of the oldest pure-blood families in England. She was not a witch, as you know. So magic manifested in the third generation, in you.”  
“God, no. I’m a Malfoy?”  
“Well, you wouldn’t have been a Malfoy, even if your grandmother had the name. She married a Watson. And, I think you might have misinterpreted something there, John. Your daughter is a witch. And she is going to be a handful if she can produce something like that barely two hours after being born.”  
“The lights? I knew I didn’t feel the magic flowing through me.”  
“Yes. It was your baby.”

Mary was going to kill him.

Sherlock and Victoria were standing side by side near the wall, talking in hushed voices. Victoria still had the red-rimmed eyes and looked caffeine deprived.

“ _Cher_ , we have brunch prepared at the house. Mummy and Daddy are there already. Join us, you and William. You look like you could use some good food and company.”  
“Thanks, Alissa, I appreciate it. Thank you too, Mycroft.”

Mycroft waved the thanks away nonchalantly. At this, Sherlock perked up and moved next to John. He placed his hand on his shoulder, and John turned to look at him. Sherlock spoke to him softly, so that only John could hear him.

“Do you want me there?”  
“Yes. Of course. It’s your family we’re visiting, Sherlock.”  
“Yes, but I’m only going if you want me there, to be with you. You know I don’t like family gatherings, and I’ve already promised Victor dinner. Two meals with my whole family? A bit not good, John.”

Dinner? Oh, he had forgotten entirely about Sherlock’s birthday. Sherlock’s birthday, which he now shared with his daughter. It seemed fitting, somehow, two essential pieces of his life brought into the world on the same day.

“Happy Birthday Sherlock.”

He said it softly also and grabbed the taller man into a hug, even though that was something _they just didn't do_. Sherlock was stiff for a couple of seconds before relaxing into John’s grip, placing his arms above John’s shoulders, while the doctor had them around his back. He didn’t want to let go.

“Brunch then?”  
“Yes.”

Two black cars were waiting for them outside of the emergency room, no doubt Mycroft was well known there, and they wouldn’t want to risk leaving through magical means. Mycroft and Alissa rode into the first one, leaving the rest of them to cram in the second one. Sherlock got in, John after him, and Victoria got the second window. She yawned and started some mindless chatter about all the times she had been in a hospital before today. John pretended to listen, nodding when it seemed right to do it. His mind was back at the hospital, with his daughter in the NICU. Sherlock looked out the window, ignoring both of them.

The house was almost half an hour away from London. It had a beautiful front garden, that looked better kept than the last time John saw it. They went through the gates, and Mummy Holmes was waiting for them in the doorway.

“John. How are your daughter and Mary doing?”  
“Good, thank you, Mrs Holmes.”  
“Oh, you can call me Mummy too, dear, all of them do.”

She signalled her extended family, son and daughter emerging from the first car. Sherlock was standing awkwardly in the background, as Victoria grabbed his arm and placed him in front of his mother. She pulled the tall man down and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Happy Birthday, darling boy. Victoria, dear, give us a kiss.”

Victoria kissed both of Mummy’s cheeks and gave her a tight hug.

“Mummy dearest. Lovely to see you again. It took a dreadfully long time to reunite all of us again. Daddy inside?”  
“Yes, he already had some lunch I’m afraid, and now he is taking a nap. These trips exhaust him, but I'd rather come here the normal way than use that blasted Floo Network. Lissa, darling, aren’t you tired? All of this running around, and you in such a delicate state.”

She grabbed her daughter in law and locked her arm in hers, fussing about her well-being. The whole party walked into the dining room, where brunch was waiting for them.

“Here, use this. You look like hell.”

Sherlock handed Victoria some eye drops.

“Awww, thanks Miff, I love you too.”

She poured two drops on each eye and sat next to John. Sherlock sat on his other side, next to Mummy, who sat at the head of the table, Alissa on her left, and Mycroft next to her.

“Good morning, sir, would you want tea? Apple or pumpkin juice?”

John almost jumped, a tiny female house-elf, clad in a beautiful linen towel with the monogram GM in gold.

“Good graces, you have a house-elf, Mycroft?”

“Three, as a matter of fact. Yes, their family served  _grand-mère_ for years. When she passed, they moved in with me. I used to have non-magical staff before, but nothing can beat house elves. Sherry, this is John Watson, you have seen him before, but he hasn’t met you properly. This is Sherry, my housekeeper.”  
“Nice to meet you, sir.”

The elf bowed and went to stand next to her mistress.

“Thank you, Sherry. We’ll ring if we need anything else.”

She disapparated with a crack.

They ate silently; Victoria was retelling her escapades to Mummy Holmes, who was listening with an amused look on her face. Sherlock was playing with his food, not touching anything until John gave him an ‘Eat or else’ look, so he started nibbling on some toast. It was then, while they were quietly around the table that Alissa went stiff. Her eyes turned violet, and she started moving her fork, scratching her plate. Sherlock stood from his seat, holding the chair behind Alissa, as Mycroft pulled out his wand.

“ _Accio_ pencil and paper”, and soon said items appeared flying through the dining room doorway. He took the fork, and removed the plate, and placed the pencil and paper in front of his wife.

Mummy signalled John and Victoria, and both of them were soon standing on either side of Sherlock. Victoria was petite, and her place behind the chair was next to Mycroft, so she touched her dress, and transformed back into Victor, who kept his muggle clothing, though. He then wrapped his arms around Sherlock and started looking over his shoulder. Soon an elaborate drawing began to appear in front of their eyes. A dark starry night, a warehouse, and the back of a mysterious man John recognised as Sebastian Moran. The detail of the drawing was terrific; it was like looking at a black and white picture. After a couple of minutes, Alissa finished the portrait. Her eyes came back to normal, and both Sherlock and Mycroft grabbed her before she collapsed. Mycroft gave her a glass of water, and she drank the whole thing fast. Sherlock paced, and kneeled beside her.

“I need to see.”  
“Yes, _mon lapin_. You will see.”

She then grabbed both of his hands, and soon her eyes were once again violet, and Sherlock’s eyes as well. John widened his own eyes. The whole situation was too much. Victor just seemed bored, and Mycroft kept his arm on his wife’s back. They both came out of it at the same time, and Sherlock would have fallen backwards if John hadn’t moved fast enough to catch him. John grabbed Sherlock and pulled him up, his arms under his, then he kept his hands at his back to hold him upright.

“Mycroft, I’m going to need the star charts. And a map of London.”  
Mycroft tutted at him, “If you hadn’t erased all astronomy knowledge, you wouldn’t need them, brother mine.”  
“Piss off.”  
“Sherlock! Language!”  
“Sorry, mother.”

Mycroft rang for Sherry, who soon enough came with the star charts. They took the other end of the table, as Sherlock started to make calculations on them. He logged onto his phone and began a search,and then he placed a tack on a point in the map.

“Sherlock! The table!”  
“Sorry mother, Mycroft can fix it later. This” and he showed the exact place he marked “is the exact location of the warehouse. According to the star charts, temperature feel and darkness, he is going to be there today exactly at nine thirty. We need to ambush him there.”  
“Amazing.”

Sherlock’s face flushed at John’s praise.

“Do we want a whole team of aurors on this?”  
“I think it’s better if it’s us and maybe Harry and one or two of the best aurors in the office. It will be easier to surprise him if fewer people are lurking that he can detect. He doesn’t know we will be coming his way.”  
“I guess we’ll have to reschedule dinner. I can give you your present later, though, Miff.”  
“Victor. Timing.”

No sooner they had started planning for the evening, Mycroft on his phone and Alissa with her head through the fireplace, that a silvery swan appeared.

_‘Portland, immediately, emergency’_ said the swan in Gabrielle Delacour’s voice.

It was John’s turn to almost fall, and Sherlock was right behind him, holding him steady. Mycroft hung up, as his wife emerged from the fireplace, and his head went into the fire instead. He came out a few minutes after, with a silver spoon in his mouth.

“Everyone, touch the spoon. I needed, no, wanted, Percy’s blessing to set a Portkey for a Muggle Hospital. He made it himself. It’s going to activate in two minutes, so I suggest you all move. I hope Gabrielle has Mary’s room free of muggles.”

They all stood up, and each placed a finger on the spoon, Sherlock still holding John, who looked paler every second, and almost like he was going to be sick. The spoon started glowing, and John felt like a hook was grasping him under his navel. God, he hated portkeys.

They all managed to land on their feet, and they appeared into Mary’s empty room, in which a distraught Gabrielle Delacour was sitting on the chair John used just that morning.

“Where’s my wife? Is she ok?”  
“John. Mary is gone. I’m so sorry you are going through this; it is all my fault. I was supposed to be watching her!”

John paled and sat down on the bed Mary had vacated. It was still warm.

“She told me she was feeling better, and that she wanted some privacy to take a shower and get ready to meet her daughter. I told her I was going to be just out the door, and that she just needed to let me know when she was ready. When I thought she was taking too long, I walked in, and she was gone. I sent my Patronus to Alissa the second I realised her disappearance. Maybe we can find her if somebody took her. My protective charms are powerful, but someone could have cracked them. I’m sorry, John, Alissa. I’ve failed you.”  
“No one is blaming you, _ma bichette_. I’ll do a reconstruction right now, so I can see what happened here. I can feel your protective charms, only a Portkey that had John travelling to this room could have gone through. We almost bounced off. Allow me.”

She took out her wand and started chanting like the last time John saw her inside the pensieve. She walked around the room, looked out the window, and then stopped. She looked at John, pained look on her face.

“John. Mary left on her own accord. She had someone pick her up on a hydraulic lift, and she escaped in an unmarked white van. Elle, you protected the room from people outside, but Mary wasn’t a prisoner here. She could escape if she wanted to. If you check the bathroom, you’ll see her gown in the hamper, and she wore some coveralls like she was trying to pass as a painter. _Mon coeur_ , you can take over. I’m sure you can find her on the CCTV, and we can pinpoint her exact location in no time.”  
“No.”

John’s voice was firm with anger, and his hands were shaking.

“John, are you sure? I’ll make a phone call and I’ll...”  
“I said no.”

He stood up as he said that.

He was livid with anger. He wanted to punch someone, hell, kill someone. His wife, the assassin, left his baby. Because he didn’t care that she abandoned him, not after all the lies and deceit they both inflicted on each other. He cared that his beautiful baby, less than a day old, will apparently grow up without a mother. Soon that dawned on him. He was a single dad. He felt he was bound to be a crappy father anyway, but now doing it all on his own? He opened and closed his left hand before he sat down back again.

Victor moved, and sat right beside him in the bed, took his hand in his. He wondered why he let this man, who he barely knew, take his hand and comfort him. But it felt safe, human contact, something that everyone secretly craves.

“I’m so sorry, Johnny. But I know I speak from everyone in this room, well except Elle perhaps, because she’s going to be so far away and she barely knows you, you can count on us, for anything. I happen to be an excellent babysitter.”

John laughed as he imagined the flamboyant and chatty Victor Trevor babysitting his little girl, changing nappies and such, or the flirty and bubbly Victoria Vertro teaching her tricks. Better not think about that.

“See? Made you laugh.”

John gave the man’s hand a little squeeze, and Alissa stepped and sat on John’s other side, taking his other hand.

“And I’d love to do it too, _cher_. Grandmama Leveau knows; I need the practice. This is a thing of fate, darling.”

Sherlock seemed at a loss for words, apparently wanting to be closer to John, but not knowing how to approach him. Finally, looking like he made up his mind, he crouched in front of him and placed both his hands on John’s knees.

“I don’t know the first thing about babies, but you know how fast I learn. You could take my room downstairs, and with some modifications, it can be both bedroom and nursery. I’ll take the room upstairs, and as soon as the baby gets her discharge, everything will be ready for her, and we’ll take her home to Baker Street.”  
“Now, now, brother, all those modifications will take some time. You need to baby proof that flat and remove your dreadful experiments. That place is a health hazard. Maybe John would be more comfortable at the Manor House? We have a nursery ready. I’m sure Mummy would want to stay for a while to help with the baby.”  
“And Auntie would love the baby! When you go back to Baker Street, she will dote on her. Oooh, she already wanted to meet her. I have to send her some pictures. I just got her a new mobile phone.”

John felt lighter than before. Sure, his wife left him, but now he had a more significant support network than ever. And it was because of Sherlock, all of them just bound to him just for having this madman in his life. His baby was minus a mother, but she had uncles and an aunt. And maybe even two grandma figures. Both Sherlock and Mycroft have asked him to move in with his baby. Well, Sherlock assumed, and Mycroft commanded. Could he do this? Could he grab his baby and go back to Baker Street?

“I want to see my baby.”  
“Yes, _cher_. Let’s all see her. Do you have a name for her yet?”  
“No, not yet.”  
“She should get a name soon, _cher_. It’s bad luck to keep a baby without a name for long.”  
“I guess I was waiting to talk it over with Mary, but now I can name her whatever the hell I want.”  
“That’s the spirit darling! Victoria is a beautiful name, you know. Fit for a queen.”  
“I’ll think about it.”

Victor beamed at him, and Sherlock just slapped the back of his head. He scowled back at the detective, touching his head in annoyance.

They walked into the NICU, and Mycroft’s phone rang. He answered in the doorway, and Alissa stayed outside with her husband. He hung up and then went to speak to the rest of the group.

“Time is of the essence here. We need to set things up for tonight. Alissa, Tum, I need you both. John, you can stay here as much as you want, and I suspect my brother would want to stay with you. I’ve also taken a liberty. It seems the baby has some visitors. I’m wondering if you would want them to go up.”  
“Visitors?”  
“Ah, they are already here. We should go now.”

He grabbed both Victor and Alissa and disapparated on the spot before John had time to reply. Just turning around the corner, entering the closed ward, were Harry Watson and Oliver Wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Sorry about all the medical babble, I couldn't help it.  
> \- GM in Mycroft's house elf monogram is Greengrass Manor.


	15. Deals and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Victor make a deal. Sherlock gets one of his birthday presents and the confrontation with Moran starts.

Harry was the first to speak up.

“John, uhm, sorry, but Mr. Holmes texted me in the morning. Told me the baby was born today. I wanted to meet her John; I wanted to meet her and meet your wife properly too.”  
“A bit late for that.”  
“I told you, I wasn’t feeling ok on your wedding day! But I wanted to meet her, John. Oliver brought me here before I changed my mind.”

Oliver just stood in the background, looking around with a bit of discomfort. He was wearing his muggle clothes, and John could say he looked fine in them.

“Harry, of course, you can meet your niece. The wife, you are a bit late for that.”

Harry looked at Sherlock then and smiled.

“So you finally saw the light then brother?”  
“Ha bloody ha, funny as always Harriet dear.”  
“So where is she?”  
“She is still in the NICU; she was born early. You can still see her, though. You have to dress up a bit, though.”

She told the basics to Harry, and then he let one of the nurses take over. He was left standing alone with Sherlock and Oliver. Well, this one was long overdue.

“Ollie? It’s good to see you.”

Oliver didn’t reply.

“I know I did wrong; I know that now.”

He then looked at Sherlock.

“Don’t I know. I just wanted to say again, I’m sorry.”

Oliver looked at Sherlock, and then his gaze went down to John again. He was still taller than John, had always been since they were kids.

“Got a taste of your own medicine then, brother?”

John laughed, and Oliver pulled into a hug. John breathed him in, still the same familiar smell after all this time. Oliver kissed his hair. John’s eyes felt moist, a single tear running down his cheek. He pulled back from the hug and looked at his long-lost brother’s eyes for the first time in years.

“Do you want to meet your niece?”  
“I’d be delighted, Johnny.”  
“But first, there’s someone else I want to introduce to you too.”

Sherlock looked lost behind them, kept staring at Harry through the window and throwing glances towards Oliver and John. John motioned at him to move next to him, and then he grabbed Sherlock’s arm, placing him in front of Oliver.

“This is my partner, Sherlock Holmes.”  
“Pleasure to meet the famous detective. Harry and me, we follow your antics on John’s blog all the time.”

He extended his hand and Sherlock shook it awkwardly.

“Ollie, Sherlock is one of us.”

Oliver’s eyes brightened at this, and he placed his other hand over the one already shaking Sherlock’s.

“You could only be a wizard. It’s nice to meet you finally.”

Sherlock gave him a real smile, a small and cautious one, but a real one.

“You too, Mr Wood.”  
“Oliver, I insist.”

The lights flickered, and they both saw Harry smiling, as she touched the baby with gloves in the incubator. She was talking to her, and the staff started to check the lights. One nurse even called maintenance. They stood silently, waiting as the nurses removed Harry from the room to check the power on the incubator.

“Oh John, she is just like you! When you were little, whenever I told you a story, the lights would start acting wonky.”  
“Really? You never told me that!”  
“Well, you did a lot of things. I knew you were special since the beginning, I told you. Oh, she is going to be something. I wonder if she is going to be a Gryffindor like Ollie and you. Maybe she is going to be a Hufflepuff.”

Like Luke. Oliver pulled both Harry and John into a big hug.

“We could use another Puff in the family. What do you think Johnny?”  
“Well, she can be in whatever house she likes. But sure, another Puff in the family would be great.”  
“Harry. It’s time you finally met Sherlock.”  
“Harriet Watson. Delighted to put a voice to the name and face finally.”

Sherlock shook her hand and remained silent.

“Never mind.”

She laughed, and she looked just like John. 

John felt humbled. In one day, his daughter lost her mother but gained back her family and a big, extended family. He won a big family.

His phone beeped.

_‘Muggle cars sent to pick you and your family up. Don’t leave by magical means. Many people saw you both there. – MH.’_  
_‘Also, all in motion for tonight. – MH’_  
“Sherlock. Cars are ready. We have to go. What's the deal with your brother now? Since when does Mycroft text when he can call?”  
“Are you guys on a case now?”

Harry looked back at her niece worried.

“Yes. We need to get back to the rest of the team now.”  
“Take care, Johnny.”

Oliver hugged him, and he grabbed Harry’s arm.

“There is a car for us; you should come along.”

They took the lift down; Sherlock was quiet, he gave the trio some space. When they reached the front, two cars were already waiting for them. Oliver and Harry climbed into one, and Sherlock and John rode the other. Sherlock was quiet, but John caught him trying to talk to him, then stopping again.

“What’s on your mind, Sherlock?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Come on, tell me.”

Sherlock looked out the window, before turning and locking his eyes on John.

“What did you mean?”  
“What did I mean when, Sherlock?”  
“When you told Victor you were not gay.”  
“Just that, that I was not gay.”  
“But what did you mean?”

For such a smart man, Sherlock could be so thick sometimes.

“Just that.”  
“Just what John? Because today, did I just saw you interacting with your ‘brother’ – he seemed to add derision to that word- in a not gay way?”  
“Ask what you want to ask, stop dancing around it, Sherlock.”  
“It doesn’t matter. I was just wondering. When you flirted with Victor, was it only because Victor is what he is?”  
“And what exactly do you think Victor ‘is’?”  
“Victor is a woman a big percentage of the time, John. He can be, he physically is one, his abilities let him do as he pleases, most of the time. Were you flirting with him because he is genderfluid?”

John was starting to be annoyed now. What was the problem with Sherlock? Didn’t he understand John at all?

“And well, then there’s Oliver, who is a man. A very 'manly' man, for lack of a better descriptive. Yet you let that man kiss you, and you didn’t even flinch. You cried even. _You_. _Cried._ ”  
“You observe, but you don’t see Sherlock.”

Sherlock scoffed at the last comment and remained silent for the rest of the way. Soon they could see the gates of the manor house, and Victoria was out there, smoking. John’s mind started reeling, hatching a plan.

“Victoria. A word.”  
“Yes, darling? Mac sent me outside. Apparently, Mummy doesn’t approve of my smoking habits in the house.”  
“Yes, those things will eventually kill you.”  
“I’d rather choose my way to go. Maybe I’ll die before I stop being fabulous.”  
“Enough on you dying. I wondered if you were amenable to a little experiment.”  
“Tit for tat. I want to ask you for a favour.”  
“Yes, I agree with granting you one favour, nothing far-fetched, though.”  
“Such a benevolent man. So what you are asking me isn’t far-fetched?”  
“It depends. Can you change back to Victor?”

She sighed, touched her robes and changed into the accommodating version of Victor, shorter, with no mismatched eyes.

“The real Victor, if you don’t mind.”

Sherlock was watching them, waiting for either of them to pay attention to him. The man touched his robes again and morphed into all the tallness and heterochromia that was Victor Trevor. John noticed his cheekbones, not as pronounced as Sherlock’s, but beautiful indeed, and so inherently male. He even had a five o clock shadow now. Mmm, he probably didn't have any time to shave.

“So, you agree? To do this little experiment with me, I mean.”

Victor smirked, and he touched his robes once more. They changed into a muggle lab coat, cyan, and he was now wearing a bow tie.

“Yes, Johnny boy, experiment away.”  
“Who are you supposed to be now, then?”  
“Bill Nye. God, you British people. It doesn’t matter. Ok, so what is it?”

John pulled him closer and kissed him. Not a chaste peck, no, nothing like that, but a full assault on the man’s lips. Victor stiffened at first, panicked eyes still open, before relaxing into the kiss. When John’s tongue teased his mouth, he opened it, and the thing morphed into a full-blown snog. John was holding the back of his head, and the doctor poured all the feeling he wanted to share with a different man, nonetheless, into the kiss. Victor’s hands found their way to John’s hips, and he held him firmly as the kiss continued. They heard the door slamming before they both pulled back. Victor’s pupils looked dilated; John could see only a little bit of green and blue on each eye. He looked at the door, and then at John before tutting,

“Now you made him mad Johnny, and on his birthday. Honestly, give the poor boy a break.”  
“I don’t remind listening to you complaining a few seconds ago, Victor.”  
“Like I was going to miss that! One doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. But, then, I expected some gain from this, so it wasn’t all selflessness.”

He batted his eyelashes at John, smirking.

“Out with it, what do you want?”  
“I want you to take part on my birthday present to Miff. I’ll explain. When I took this case, I intended to become his handler.”  
“His handler?”  
“Yes. When Miff was 19, Griz moved in with him. He started to turn a new leaf; he even got clean for a while. Griz pleaded with Mac, and he finally let her become his handler. That means, the compulsion spell Mac placed on him, he passed it on to her. That way he could have his wand back, and she would remove it from him if he crossed the line, that is if he used again. Then someone mentioned that damned twin and shit hit the fan, allegorically speaking. That blasted someone was me. So I ruined everything.”

He had a guilty look on his face, and he seemed sincere.

“I’ve wanted to make it up to him so badly, wanted to prove him how much I still care, even if we’re both too screwed up to fit together, I still love him deeply. But not as much or even in the same way as you do.”

John opened his mouth at this, and Victor placed a hand in front of him, shutting him up dramatically.

“Don’t even try to deny it. Everyone can see it, even if he can’t. We never worked, you know. We both like the spotlight too much.”

And he leaned forward towards John and whispered mischievously into his ear,

“And we both wanted the same thing, you know, in the bedroom. That didn’t work at all. But you two, you two would work. And just so you know, I envy him that. I would tread the depths of hell for a kiss like the one you gave me, one that was really for me. I know this isn’t perfect timing, your wife just left you. I’d say good riddance, but then you’ll probably beat me to a pulp. But he needs his wand tonight, and you are the only one he will accept as his handler.”  
“If he still talks to me after this, I mean.”

Victor laughed before adding,

“Don’t underestimate the love of William Holmes, John. That man is as madly in love with you as you are with him.”

John shook his head at this, and Victor just scoffed at him.

“I’ve known him for a long time, longer than you John. And you know what I see when he looks at you? Devotion. Hope. Things I haven’t seen on his face in a very long time.”

His face turned a little sour before adding,

“He’d never ask me to move in with him. When I helped him fall, we almost killed each other when we were together without Griz. If he had his wand with him at the time, I’d be cursed in some ditch in Poland by now. And he asked you to move back, with your child. William Holmes, living in the same space as a small baby. I thought I would die before seeing that day.”

John felt lightheaded. Could he have been so blind after all this time? Did Sherlock love him as much as he loved him? Because he knew now what he felt, now that Mary and his promise to her seemed to be out of the picture, for now at least, because with _Mary_ , who knew? But John knew his heart. He wanted to move back to Baker Street with his baby girl, share his space again with his mad infuriating flatmate who sulked like a toddler and walked around naked in a sheet and who went days without talking. He loved the man, loved him so dearly that it had taken marriage and the threat of separating again for him to come to terms with it.

“If he accepts me, he’ll have me. I’ll be his handler.”  
“Good. Mac owes me, and I believe he will be happy with the arrangements.”

John had a brilliant idea then.

“Victor, could I abuse your trust in another favour?”  
“Mmmm, you’ll owe me one. In fact, I’ll do it if you name the baby Victoria.”  
“I like that name. Compromise though, middle name? I’ve already chosen her first name.”  
“Deal. What do you want now?”  
“I’m going to try the healing spell on myself before I offer to do it for Sherlock. I want you there in case I do it wrong and end bleeding to death or something like that.”  
“Count on that. Though I’m rubbish at healing spells, in the worst case scenario, I will haul your ass straight to Saint Mungo’s.”

The door was still closed, so they rang the bell. A beautiful woman opened the door, but when she saw it was them, she transformed back into Sherry the house elf. Interesting, John had seen her before pretending to be a muggle housekeeper. All these years and Mycroft kept surprising him.

“Master and Mistress are in the study. They are expecting you, sirs.”

She seemed annoyed at them, like thinking how did they dare make her masters wait.

“Yes, Sherry, someone left us out in the cold.”

They entered the study, were they found a whole party of aurors assembled. Harry Potter was there, studying the maps with Alissa and Sherlock, Mycroft was sitting in a chair talking on the phone. Gabrielle, Dennis Creevey and two other aurors John recognised from his house were talking among themselves. Sherlock didn’t lift his head from the maps to look at John as he approached their table. Victor crouched beside Mycroft, talking to the elder Holmes softly, no doubt proposing his idea and letting him know John was ok with his part in the plan. Mycroft shook his head, looking at both John and Sherlock, and Victor looked pissed. John thoughts broke, as Harry went to shake his hand.

“John Watson, long time.”  
“Harry. You look like an adult now.”

Harry just laughed, and John could see the careless boy behind the Head of the Auror Office.

“Tell that to Ginny. She would have a laugh.”  
“I heard you have kids now?”  
“Yes, two boys and a girl. My eldest just started this past September.”  
“Gryffindor, I suppose?”  
“Yes, Teddy was so disappointed he didn't get a Puff mate.”  
“Ahh, yes, how is Teddy doing these days?”  
“Head Boy. Remus and Tonks would be proud.”  
“I’d love to meet him sometime. Tell him how his mum and dad saved my life back then.”  
“I’m sure he’d be delighted. He wants to meet Trevor. There aren’t many metamorphmagi around, you know, and Trevor is famous all around the world.”

John looked back at the man fondly; he could see he was still trying to argue his point with Mycroft. He caught Sherlock looking at him as he turned to look at Victor. His eyes could have chilled a blazing fireplace. John started worrying; surely Sherlock wasn’t mad for one kiss? He had been bloody incisive in the car. John just wanted to send the message across his thick skull for once. Sherlock spoke then, addressing Harry.

“Don’t let Victor near your godson, Harry. He corrupts everything he touches.”

Harry gave Sherlock a surprised look, and Alissa glared at him.

“William, apologise for that this instant. That man has risked his life for you countless of times.”

Sherlock dismissed his sister and went back to staring at the maps. Victor walked back to the table and went to stand next to John. He whispered into John’s ear,

“The plan is a go if he accepts it. He will have to, though, if he wants to use his wand today. He was going to borrow his mother’s wand for the night.”

It was starting to get dark outside, while Harry and Alissa planned their positions for the ambush.

“We were thinking, _cher_ , that it would be better if we walked in pairs.”  
“If we are going in pairs I call dibs on John!” said Victor happily.  
“Dibs? What the hell Victor? How old are you? Five?”

Sherlock almost spat the words his way.

“I changed my mind darling; I call dibs on John going with you. Could you join us with Mac for a moment?”

Sherlock looked at Victor rebelliously, like daring him to make another move. Victor just went and grabbed his arm, which Sherlock released with a sharp movement. Victor sighed.

“Now, don’t be difficult. Just for a second. Mac.”

Mycroft looked from his chair at the term of endearment and started walking to the other room. Victor motioned for John to follow him, and as John left the room with Victor, he felt Sherlock move and position himself just behind him. Mycroft closed the door behind them, and then he talked directly to Sherlock.

“Brother mine, Victor has decided he wanted to claim his payment for the case today. He wants to grant you back your wand privileges, that is, if you accept to have a handler until you’ve proven you can keep your nose out of trouble.”

Sherlock scoffed and looked from Victor to his brother in disgust.

“I’d rather go wandless for the rest of my life than accommodate to your wishes. I’m a grown man, and I've meant it before. You both don’t have a say in my life. Victor, I don’t tolerate you for two days sharing the same space. How the hell do you expect me to tolerate you as my handler?”  
“Nobody is saying Victor is going to be your handler, Sherlock.”

It was John’s turn to speak now, and he was still a little angry at Sherlock. The man was apparently sulking because of what happened before between Victor and him.

“You? Why would I want you as my handler, John? A man whose wife just left him with a newborn baby, who, as soon as he sees the opportunity, would see fit to leave me alone and wandless again?”

John was furious now.

“You bastard. I’ve been there for you, many times before. Fine, if you don’t want me to be your handler, you can go wandless today. You could go naked for all I care. Let’s go, Victor.”

He turned to leave the room before Victor placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and saw the pleading eyes in the man’s face, begging him silently to stay. John stopped and looked at Sherlock. The detective was still glaring daggers at Victor and John, but after a few minutes, he seemed subdued. Diminished, even.

“For how long?”

He was asking John now, how long before you leave me again? John could feel the unasked question pouring out of his friend’s mouth.

“For as long as you want it. For as long as it takes.”

Sherlock looked at him with a sort of longing. He nodded at Mycroft, so the elder Holmes pulled his wand out of the umbrella handle.

“John, you need to lock your hand in Sherlock’s and the other one in mine. Not my wand arm, please.”

John gave Sherlock a handshake, aching to link his fingers in the detective’s hand. Then he grabbed Mycroft’s offered hand, as the man began to mutter a difficult spell. The doctor could see silver cords going from Mycroft’s hand into John’s, and into Sherlock. John thought how much Mycroft must trust Victor’s judgement because this was something he wouldn’t bestow on just anybody. John could feel the spell binding him to Sherlock, and it felt like an anchor. As Mycroft finished the spell, he released John, who continued to hold Sherlock’s hand in his. The man then opened the void where he kept Sherlock’s wand and handed it to John.

“John Watson, I hope you know what you agreed to do. Failure to comply could make me lose my job and grant both my brother and yourself a cosy cell in Azkaban. I hope you would think of your daughter before letting him commit any crime against himself or the wizarding world.”

John almost rolled his eyes at him, but he knew Mycroft meant business. Hermione Granger would have his head on a plate if Sherlock started using and brewing illegal potions again. He released Sherlock and handed him his wand instead. Sherlock looked at John like he was some a knight in white armour who just released him from a tower prison. He held his wand reverently in his hand, before conjuring a silver holder, attaching it to his arm. He then touched his Belstaff, which transformed into the grey robes he undoubtedly favoured.

“Try the spell, John.”  
“I'd rather not, Mycroft.”

John felt heartbroken just by trying to take his wand from him. Sherlock just walked to him and handed the rod back to John, not waiting for his command.

“And I’ll do it if he even looks at me the wrong way, Mycroft. You don’t have to worry. I trust John’s judgement completely. I trust this man with my life.”

Mycroft seemed satisfied and decided not to push the issue more.

“So from now on, you’ll team with John.”  
“Fine by me.”

John just nodded. He was a little overwhelmed by the trust placed in him by both brothers, and Victor, who decided he was better suited to be Sherlock handler.

“Happy Birthday, Miff.”

Sherlock just glanced his way. He seemed to be thinking, but Victor just walked to him and opened his arms. Sherlock stepped into the embrace and started whispering to Victor’s ear. Victor held him tighter, and then released him and kissed his cheek, smirking. John guessed whatever Sherlock thought before; things were back to normal, whatever normal meant between them.

Mycroft cleared his throat and opened the door. The rest just followed him out of the room. Alissa just had a vision, and she almost collapsed into Harry’s arms. Mycroft walked to his wife, concerned look on his face, before she opened her eyes, fear eclipsing her beautiful features.

“Whatever happens tonight, _mon coeur_ , you must promise me; you will stay here.”  
“Alissa, I...”  
“If you love me, you will stay here.”  
“I wasn’t planning on leaving the Manor today, darling.”  
“Whatever you hear, just don’t.”  
“As you wish.”

Sherlock witnessed the exchange, and John could see worry escaping through his usual façade. He stood next to him silently and placed his hand on his shoulder. As Sherlock looked back at him, he seemed to relax back into his usual features. Fear might still be there, but now it wasn’t there for those who knew how to read him to see.

Harry started speaking then.

“We decided pairs are the best approach. I will be pairing with Gabrielle, Creevey with Prewett, Trevor, disguised as me, with Alissa, then John and Mr Holmes. Abbott and Rosier will stay back as a backup. Every Auror has a coin linking them to Alissa and me. The rest, use the Patronus charm as means of communication in case something goes outside of what we planned. He won’t be expecting us. We need to capture him alive, don’t cast to kill. However, if anyone’s life is in immediate danger, a killing curse will be condoned. Mind you; I’ve never used it. We’ve captured every killer since I’m in office alive, and we’ve Azkaban full to prove it.”

John was very proud of hearing words like that coming out of a person of such authority. Harry Potter was a good man, and John could see how his people looked up to him. Even Alissa seemed proud to work side by side with the man, and she was a unique kind of witch herself. Alissa must also be particular in her choices if the witch wanted Mycroft as a life partner. She aimed high, and John was sure of that.

“Trevor, can you change now?”  
“Sure.”

He morphed into a perfect copy of Harry, all the way down to the scar.

“Amazing. You even have the same grey hairs.”

Victor beamed at John’s praise, which looked funny because it was now Harry smiling at him then.

“Potter has been kind enough to trust me with his image. I invented a charm a long time ago, the one I use with my left arm, to aid my metamorphmagus ability and going just a bit forward with transfiguration. I’m a perfect copy, down to the contents of his trousers.”  
“Please leave my trousers out of this, Trevor.”

But Harry was smiling at Victor, no doubt he trusted Alissa’s judgement concerning the man.

“I’ve meant to tell you; my godson wants to meet you. He is one of the few metamorphmagi left in Britain, and he wants to meet another one, with experience, like yourself. You remember his mother?”  
“Yes, Dora was like family. My father mentored her for a while, you know? He was a good friend of Alastor Moody, God rest his creepy soul, and he helped Dora fine-tune her abilities back then. I’ve advanced things a little by mixing it up with transfiguration. How much does young Ted like the subject? Because I remember Dora was brilliant but clumsy.”  
“He takes after his dad. He is a natural at most things, but I think he favours charms, and Defense, of course. Your dad, he died fighting, correct?”  
“Yes, good of you to remember. He was at the Ministry, not at Hogwarts though, a lesser front, but lethal still.”

John felt his sorrow come back. Victor was half a war orphan. And so young, most of them were too young to understand why their parents were fighting. They were supposed to apparate near the entrance in a couple of minutes. He and Sherlock were supposed to go into the warehouse, taking the first entrance to the left. Everyone assumed positions, pairing with their partners, and when Harry said go, John felt Sherlock’s hand on his arm. They apparated just outside the warehouse, not a sight except the other team members, each in their positions. John was reaching for the handle of their supposed entry point when Sherlock pulled on him and made him face him.

“John. I wanted to say something before we went in, seeing that we might not get out…”  
“Don’t be daft, of course, we will get out, he’s not expecting us.”  
“Let me finish.”

John touched the handle and felt the familiar pull in his navel, too fast for him to let go, pulling both Sherlock and him into an empty place. He still had it in his hand when he tried to register his new surroundings. It was another warehouse, an empty one, and soon he could see a fire starting on the opposite side.

“Sherlock?”  
“Shut up!”

Sherlock was concentrating, looking everywhere at once. John knew he was looking for escape routes.

“John, try to apparate us out of here, now, fast John!”

The fire was starting to move closer, and John threw an _Aguamenti_ charm, which only made it burn brighter and look menacing.

“Apparition John! Now!”

John tried to concentrate in their previous location. Nothing happened. He then worked up thoughts about a different place, Holmes Manor. Again, nothing. 221B. _Nada_.

“It doesn’t work, Sherlock.”  
“Clearly. No windows, and no doors, at least on this side of the fire.”  
“Is that…”  
“Fiendfyre, yes. Nothing can extinguish it; it needs to die on its own. Probably after turning us into matching piles of ashes. There’s a charm to eradicate it, but I’ve seemed to have misplaced the information.”  
“Misplaced?”  
“Probably deleted it.”  
“Think, Sherlock. It must be stored away somewhere in that sodding mind palace of yours!”

The fire started morphing into snakes and dragons, and it was closer to them each second.

“I can’t find it, John.”

Sherlock pulled out his wand, and as he looked at John, he produced a silver fox out of the tip. The fox started circling the dragons, but it only seemed to slow down the inferno. John had to look at the fox twice before registering the shape. Of course, the man had a fox as his Patronus. John pulled his wand, and soon his fox hound joined the fox, trying to stall the flames from reaching his master.

“So, this is it then?”  
“So it seems.”

John thought about his baby daughter, not even a day old and about to become an orphan. He looked at Sherlock, and he realised, if this was dying, at least he was going to die with Sherlock. This time, he won’t be left behind.

“ _Partis temporus_!”

Sherlock’s charm seemed to part the flames, but I wasn’t strong enough to handle the amount of fire they were dealing with. There was no door at the end of the small tunnel of flames. The fire seemed to get brighter, bigger and closer to them. John started sweating, the heat and the smoke almost too much for him now.

Sherlock sighed then and lowered his wand. He grabbed John’s hand, looking straight into his eyes while saying softly,

“I love you, John.”

John felt he could die right there, right now, knowing that Sherlock loved him, probably as much as he loved him.

“And I love you, Sherlock.”

They stood hand in hand, awaiting the flames that were bound to consume them.


	16. The Magical Game is On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moran has a hostage, and the real fight begins. Dueling, magic and curses ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!! This chapter contains a really gory scene and mentions of a bad guy wanting to do something unspeakable to a baby, not actually doing, but plotting to do. If something like this triggers or affects you in any way I encourage you to skip this chapter.

The wait seemed eternal to John, but only a few seconds passed before Sherlock changed his resigned look into something else.

“This is unacceptable. We’re not dying here today.”  
“Remembered the charm then?”  
“No.”

The fire kept creeping closer; John could almost see the eyes of the snake flames taunting them.

“John. Cast your Patronus again.”

Sherlock started the familiar motion, and John felt his magic creeping into him. He was lending him all his magic, and as John conjured his Patronus, he could see the fox joining the hound, backing away the flames. At least it bought them a little more time.

“It’s pointless, Sherlock.”  
“Not quite. Apparate us out of here again, please.”

John started concentrating, the three Ds again in his mind, aiming for the outside of the warehouse. He could feel the tug, so he stopped using his wand, concentrating all of his magic on getting them out of there.

It was over as soon as it started. They were back outside the warehouse, a little smoked and ashes in their clothes but otherwise unharmed. John began to pant, drained, bending his body to get some air. Sherlock crouched, also exhausted, but as he recovered, he started to walk towards John as if some unknown gravity pulled him. He touched John’s back, and John felt a tingle where the detective made contact.

“I meant it, you know.”

John was upright now, looking straight into Sherlock’s eyes.

“So did I.”

Victor was running towards them now, the moment lost. His clothes had rips everywhere, and he was bleeding from multiple puncture wounds. Puncture wounds. Looking at them closer, John realised those were bites.

“What the hell happened to you?”

John walked towards him, pulled out his wand and started healing him without another word. The wounds wouldn’t close.

“Don’t even bother. We need a specific antidote for this, honey.”

Sherlock paled and looked back at his friend.

“Those were meant for me.”  
“Yes, and you would be dead. I don’t know how that bastard knew that.”  
“Venomous Tentacula. If you weren’t a sodding pervert, you would be dead by now too, Tum Tum.”  
“Perks of being a pervert.”  
“Can you both explain? Not everybody has a direct line into both your brains, you idiots.”  
“Those are Venomous Tentacula bites.”  
“I screwed up big time, Miff. I fucked up everything this time.”

Sherlock looked around, and realisation clicked, a panicked look on his face now.

“Where is she?”  
“She went into the warehouse alone, I know it. She had a vision, so I went ahead and grabbed the handle. I guess I don’t have to tell you where I wound up.”  
“Secured room, filled with Venomous Tentaculas?”  
“Yes, he didn’t know I was immune to damage. I’ve played around with those little plants so many times that the venom makes me a little dizzy now, and mind, also horny, instead of finishing me on the spot.”

John snorted at the affirmation; his friend was truly unbelievable.

“Crazy git. So that is why you survived?”  
“Yes, yes, I have a Venomous Tentacula kink. If it had been Sherlock, he would be dead by now.”  
“I’m severely allergic to the venom. One drop, and it wouldn’t have been a normal death, it would have been an anaphylactic shock.”  
“Where is everybody?”

They walked from the corner and saw Harry and Gabrielle without a scratch. The other two aurors, the ones that were backup, were staring at the trio with wide eyes as they approached.

“Creevey and Prewett aren’t back yet. I hope their luck is as good as ours.”  
“Where did you wind up?”  
“Room filled with acromantulas. I happen to have a history with them. Call me the acromantula whisperer.”

Harry smirked, but his face was grave again in a second, as he looked back at the state of his team members.

“And I have bad news. Moran has your sister.”

Sherlock’s face turned white, and Victor placed his hands on his face.

“I knew it; she went in alone?”

Victor’s tone was almost a plea as if he wanted Harry to say something different as if he expected Alissa to appear suddenly behind them.

“He came a few minutes after we wound up there, carrying your sister in magical bindings over his shoulder. He seemed to be expecting someone else because he threw a killing curse our way and apparated out of it. I grabbed him, but he managed to shake me off. Mercifully, Gabrielle had a hold on me, and we wound up in London. We came back here a few seconds ago. You?”  
“Venomous Tentacula.”  
“God, sorry for you, mate.”  
“Don’t be.”

Victor winked at him, leaving Harry with an ‘I don’t get it’ frown on his face.

“And you both?”  
“Fiendfyre.”

Harry paled at this, shivering, adding as an afterthought,

“I hate Fiendfyre.”

John could see Sherlock’s mind working; he could almost see the gears turning.

“Each door handle was a trap, he was expecting us. He picked one of us to taunt on each door. The Venomous Tentacula was for me, the fire for Harry, the acromantula for Victor and whatever Creevey and Prewett are facing is for another one of us. The rest of the team was unable to see him? I wonder how he managed to acquire all this knowledge about us. Not many people know that Victor has an irrational fear of spiders.”  
“I do not!”

Sherlock pulled his wand and conjured a small spider to his hand. Victor paled, turned around and retched.

“Stop it!!!”

Victor said before being sick on the floor. Sherlock vanished the critter, an amused smirk on his face.

“That was cruel, Sherlock.”

John was giving him one of his _not good_ looks, and the smirk vanished instantly.

“I was trying to prove a point, sorry, Tum.”

Victor flipped a finger his way, still cleaning his mouth. Harry cleared his throat and continued talking.

“Abbott and Rosier only saw us disappear, and Alissa slipped inside the warehouse without them noticing. They went in, but found nothing but a table, a chair, and some empty boxes.”  
“Show me.”

Aware of the dangers this time, they cast _R_ _evelio_ on every possible surface before pushing the metal door open. Sherlock took in his surroundings, no doubt gaining every possible information available. John could see nothing that could pinpoint where Moran took Alissa, but he knew Sherlock’s mind worked on a different level. He looked at the table, and his face lit.

“This is almost too easy. Wizards always forget that I’ve lived as a muggle almost all my life.”

He pulled his wand and pen and paper appeared out of nowhere. He leaned on the table and started rubbing the pencil over the paper, writing showing on the blank page with each pass of it.

“The problem with quills. Pointy tips. They ruin the wood on tables. Mummy always insisted on us to use muggle pencils on the holidays or do homework anywhere that wasn’t a wooden surface. Mind, she bought her children wooden desks for school, so the point was moot.”

John laughed. It seemed more relaxed, much more than Sherlock’s usual deductions. The language was nothing that John had ever seen before, but Sherlock seemed to understand, his features turning grim with every line he revealed.

“At least he is not going to kill her. He wants her alive. Well, he wants my nephew alive.”

The grim face turned into anger, and his hand went to his wand as in a reflex. Harry grabbed the paper and gave it back to Sherlock.

“You understand it, I gather. Anything to point us to where I can find my deputy head?”  
“Not yet.”

He started again, crouching on the floor, pulling his magnifying glass out.

“A struggle, you can see that here and here. She went down fighting. Oh.”

Behind one of the boxes, he came out with Alissa’s wand in his hand. Victor gave a soft cry, almost a whimper when he saw it.

“ _Her_ _wand_ , Miff. She loves that wand as much as I love mine.”  
“And it is as valuable as yours, the idiot probably didn’t realise what he was holding, because no wand was ever as good in dark arts as a Beauvais wand. Alissa is a descendant.”

He handed the wand to John, who looked at it with interest.

“I don’t recognise the wood.”  
“You wouldn’t. That’s swamp mayhaw, and the core is the hair of a rougarou.”  
“What?”  
“Dog-headed monster that roams Louisiana swamps. Alissa’s great-great-grandmother, Marie Laveau, had one as a pet.”  
“I’ve heard her tell the name.”  
“The family worships her like a kind of deity. She was the voodoo queen of Louisiana. A lot of Alissa’s magic is inherited and she is more dexterous at wandless magic than most people, as she grew up with African American traditions.”

Victor was sobbing now, and John went to pat his back.

“This is all my fault.”  
“We were all fooled by Moran, Victor.”  
“Shut up you both.”

John threw an annoyed look as Sherlock continued crawling over the floor of the warehouse. He pulled some tape from his robes and started gathering samples, a satisfied look on his face. Sherlock stared at the front vacantly, no doubt gathering all the info available on his mind palace. The detective touched the dust and placed a finger to his mouth, and then he leapt from the floor.

“He is in a slaughterhouse on the other side of town. That specific type of dust and the fact that it tastes like dried blood pinpoints his location to three possible spots. We need to divide. Time is of the essence here.”  
“We should call for backup.”  
“You need to get your two aurors back.”  
“Yes, but we need more people, Holmes.”  
“Hardly. Enough people are involved as it is. Send the two that you have to one of the sites, Gabrielle and you can go to the other, and the rest of us will get to the last one. The team who finds Moran signals the others.”

Harry looked torn, already holding the coin in his hand. At last, he seemed to weigh his options and nodded at Sherlock. He gave all of them the possible addresses, and he grabbed John’s arm, motioning Victor to catch the other.

John apparated them just outside their destination, and he could see the darkened slaughterhouse just in front of them. They crept slowly towards the door.

“I think we are at the right spot, but we must confirm before pulling the others from their locations.”

They tiptoed, Sherlock occupied himself by casting a nonverbal _R_ _evelio_ all around them. He found spells in the door handles and motioned both of his partners to stay clear of them. The detective touched the door experimentally, as John’s eyes went wide with apprehension, but nothing happened. He pushed the door, which didn’t budge an inch, before casting _Alohomora_ on the door, but not the handle. It remained stubbornly closed.

“Move.”

Victor placed himself in front of the door, and he transfigured it into a shower curtain with a goldfish pattern.

“You owe me a curtain.”  
“I’ll get you three, you magnificent bastard.”

Sherlock was beaming at him, and John looked proud. Apparently, the man could transfigure anything.

“Birthday present?”

Victor chuckled softly.

“Yes. For you.”  
“So I owe you nothing.”  
“I ought to replace it; it was Mac’s present.”

They moved the curtain, entering the building. Not even a hint of light. John light the tip of his wand, and the other two walked behind him. The smell of dried blood embedded in John’s nostrils. The building was cold, not as frozen as an icebox, but chilled enough to make them feel underdressed. Quietly they reached an open space, hidden from sight by multiple metal containers. In the darkness, John could see a figure suspended from one of the meat hooks, feet barely touching the ground, and a man standing before her, with a magic wand in his hand. Sherlock motioned for the two men to stay quiet as he pulled out his wand and sent a silent fox away. Victor looked furious, and they moved close enough to listen, he seemed possessed by manic energy and rage. John grabbed the man’s arm, locking eyes with him. His green eye was orange, and John tried to convey how much they needed him to remain calm at the moment.

They could hear a soft voice, almost like a whisper.

“Tell me, where is it? I can ask politely just so many times, as you know. Your wandless _P_ _rotego_ isn’t going to help you always. You don’t have enough practice. Your grandmother must be rolling in her grave.”

Alissa spat at his face, and the man raised his wand, his spell deflected by the wandless protection spell _._

“If you don’t tell me, I can wait. I always have a backup plan. You and your baby can be instrumental if I can’t find the book.”

Alissa’s eyes widened, and Moran took advantage of the glitch in her guard.

“ _Crucio._ ”

Alissa started wrangling on her chains, pain etched in her features, but not a word or a scream came out of her mouth.

“NO YOU DON’T!”

Victor jumped out of cover and John ran instinctively after him. Moran and Victor started duelling, hatred coming from both men’s eyes. Moran threw only killing curses at them, and they could barely deflect them all. As they were duelling, Sherlock crept towards Alissa.

“No, you don’t!”

Moran hissed at the detective and threw a killing curse, and Sherlock barely deflected it. One of Victor’s curses hit him, and his wand arm started bleeding profusely. He placed black flames around Alissa, almost burning Sherlock with them, as he turned his attention back to John and Victor, throwing killing curses all around him like a madman. He didn’t fear death, because his body was far away, safe from harm. They needed to get him alive.

“Where are the others?”

Victor was starting to look a little drained. Even if he was immune, he had sustained multiple bites from a deadly plant less than an hour before. John himself wasn’t duelling at his best, and Sherlock was exhausted. Moran seemed full of energy and hatred, and Sherlock had to keep protecting himself and Alissa because the latter was unconscious.

They heard a blast, and the saw no other than Mycroft Holmes, leaning on his umbrella as he approached the fight. There was a cold look in his eyes, more frozen than John had ever seen. Sherlock’s eyes widened in panic, and he yelled at both Victor and John.

“Protect him!”

They started backing up from Moran’s curses, shielding themselves and Mycroft, as the other man walked calmly to the centre.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the lapdog. Tell me again, where is our dear Jim these days?”

Moran’s eyes lit with fury at Mycroft’s taunting, and he started directing all his curses at him. John and Victor could barely keep up. Their shields were failing, and Mycroft pounded his umbrella on the floor, causing both men to fall on their backs. Moran directed all his curses at him, and Mycroft deflected him, manoeuvring his umbrella like a sword. The man was an exceptional dueler, much better than John had ever imagined. Still, while he was protecting himself from death, he couldn’t land a curse on Moran, and the man was fast. John crawled next to Mycroft, and he tried to deflect the curses.

“Make the shield smaller John! Give the man room to act! Victor, you know what to do!”

So that was it. As John and Victor were shielding him, his curses couldn’t pass through to Moran. Victor crawled, and reached for Mycroft’s leg, he then went down on his back and started doing the loaning enchantment. 

Mycroft’s voice was calm and cold.

“So you think you are a dark wizard? I’ve looked at darker wizards in the eye and lived. A nothing gets darker than this. There are fates worse than death, as you, a coward who fears it, don’t seem to grasp.”

He threw a spell at Moran, which the man deflected, and Mycroft’s wand snapped in half. John was still shielding him as the man sighed, and threw his umbrella behind him.

“John, disarm me! Mycroft, duck!”

John let the shield go for a second, and a killing curse barely missed Mycroft, as he decided on moving to a side rather than ducking. In a moment, Alissa’s wand was in John’s hand, and he gave it to Mycroft while Sherlock threw curses at Moran, who didn’t even try to deflect them. He was bleeding from multiple cuts, as Mycroft moved his wife’s wand in the same motion he attempted before, hitting his target straight in the chest.

Moran’s body started coming apart in pieces, skin, muscle, organs, bones, even the eyeballs, blood spilt to the floor. John looked around in horror as the body parts still glistened, looking remarkably alive, for body parts spread on the floor, that is. The eyeballs even moved from side to side. John wasn’t squeamish, he was a doctor for God’s sake, but the sight was enough to make his skin crawl. The doctor took a look at the brain before deciding it was better to look away. Victor was still on his back, apparently drained. Mycroft fell on his knees, his face paling, and he grabbed his chest. John moved to him, as Sherlock ran to his brother, pulling a potion out of his robes and thrusting it into his brother’s mouth without a word. Mycroft still looked pale, but he stood up, grabbing his sibling’s robes.

“Antivenom. Moran poisoned Victor, but it doesn’t affect him, as you know. He poisoned you slowly loaning you his magic. This dose isn’t enough. We need to get you to St. Mungo’s. A minute more, and you would be dead on the floor.”  
“Venomous Tentacula, I presume?”  
“Yes.”  
“Tum, you are disgusting, you know?”  
“Ha bloody ha, I wasn’t 'disgusting' when I was saving your sodding life, so give me a break Mac.”

John was still looking at Sherlock and Mycroft when a soft groan called his attention. Alissa was waking up, still hanging from that blasted hook. Mycroft walked to his wife and vanished the flames with a wave of her wand. He was shaking as he dislodged his pregnant wife from the hook, and as she gained consciousness, she looked at his face in a fury and slapped him. Mycroft looked hurt, but he soon was composed enough to talk.

“My apologies, darling.”  
“I’m about to become a widow, aren’t I? You promised, Mycroft Holmes! I’m forced to raise our son alone because you broke that promise.”  
“We still have a couple of minutes.”

Sherlock approached his sister.

"Apparate him at once to St. Mungo’s, and we might still have the annoying git for a couple of years until he eats himself to death.”

Alissa grabbed her husband and disapparated without another word. John hoped they both would be ok; Alissa was probably sporting some nasty injuries herself. Victor was still lying on the floor. And the body pieces were still there, looking strangely alive as before.

“God, we missed him again, didn’t we? We needed to catch the bastard alive.”  
“Oh John, he is still alive.”  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“He is in pieces, but he still alive. He is feeling the pain of it as we speak. My brother’s _Dismembrio_ charm is a nasty piece of magic.”

John felt sick now. But I guess Moran deserved it as much as anyone could. As always, it seemed that Sherlock could read his mind.

“Yes, John. He was planning on summoning Moriarty’s soul and place it on my nephew’s body. I’m sorry, but it’s tough for me to feel anything but hatred for the man. We need to pick the pieces. If my brother survives this, he can track Moran’s body with them.”

He conjured a cooler box out of nowhere.

“Seriously? A cooler box?”  
“What do you propose we use, then?”

John couldn’t give an answer to that, so he accepted a pair of latex gloves from Sherlock as he started to pick the pieces and throw them in.

“You pick the eyeballs and the brain. They give me the creeps.”

John stopped to check on Victor, who seemed to be dozing off on his back.

“Hey. Sleepyhead. Wake up.”  
“John. I think I took too much poison today.”  
“Shit. Sherlock!”  
“John, send your Patronus to Harry. Mine seemed to have strayed; it went straight to Mycroft for help.”

John’s hound quickly disappeared as he pulled Victor from the floor. The man could barely stand. Harry appeared with his aurors in an instant.

“Holmes! What happened? You were supposed to call for us!”

Harry looked mad, and Sherlock raised his arms trying to appease him.

“Harry. I sent the Patronus. My brother got it instead. I was probably in too much emotional turmoil to concentrate on anything but the message.”  
“And Moran?”  
“Captured. Alive.”  
“And where is he?”

They had managed to gather all of Moran’s pieces before the aurors arrived.

“Contained.”

He showed Harry the container, and the man opened his mouth, before closing it again.

“I supposed it’s better if no one opens it, I gather. I won’t ask who is responsible for this, because I know. But as you know, this better remain in this room.”

Sherlock went to whisper in Harry’s ear, and Harry nodded, looking back at his aurors and Gabrielle.

“I’ll leave the cooler in Mycroft’s office. He is back there; I gather?”  
“St. Mungo’s. Tentacula poisoning. And we must be going. It was a little too much for our friend here too.”  
“I’ll leave it in Alissa’s office then; I don’t want to risk a curse into oblivion by trying to enter his office without him in it.”  
“It would be wise, yes.”

Sherlock went to grab Victor’s other side, as John apparated them to the entrance of St. Mungo’s.


	17. St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> St. Mungo's Hospital, and John is back in his element.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who skipped the last chapter, Mycroft and Victor are both injured after saving the day, they finally managed to capture a semblance of Moran that will enable them to track him to his real body.

They made it to the visitor’s entrance just in time, talking to the dummy doll, who sent them to the emergency department. It wasn’t filled with people, like the muggle A&E because, mercifully, real magical emergencies were rare, and people were quickly sorted and transported to their respective wards. John looked at Victor, whose eyes were fluttering as he finally lost consciousness. Both men carried him inside St. Mungo’s, and John started to check on his wounds.

“He’s still bleeding! Probably never stopped! But his clothing is dry.”  
“Ahhh, self-cleaning robes. Victor managed to perfect it then; he was working on that a week or so ago. How many bites does he have?”

John moved his robes, opened the shirt and lifted his vest. Just in his front, he saw at least ten bites.

“Shit. He’s in hypovolemic shock.”

He was in full doctor mode, and his tone of command was evident when he encountered the lime green robed healers. Two of them approached them, and the youngest one even raised an eyebrow at John, who was still wearing his muggle clothing, as he never bothered to tap his wand to his jacket.

“He is going to need plenty of blood replenishing potions; he has more than ten untreated Venomous Tentacula bites. He is partially immune to the poison, so he would be better on the first floor, treat it more as a creature induced injury, his problem is the blood loss, it's hurting him more than the poison. Trust me on that one.”

He released Victor into a magically conjured gurney, and he was about to follow Sherlock into the lift when he heard a voice behind him.

“John Watson! A sight for sore eyes!”

John motioned for Sherlock to continue, and he turned to see a balding man, a little fat, shorter than him for about two inches. He was wearing the green robes trimmed with the gold of the head healer. John looked at the man in confusion and the man chuckled.

“Bit different, I know! It’s this job. How long since we last saw each other? Almost twenty years, I think. But you can at least remember your flatmate for almost a year, a man whose life you saved, by the way.”  
“Roman! God, you look like hell.”  
“I could say the same to you, you know. Still trying to live the ‘I’m a happy muggle lie’? That year we spent away was one of the worst of my life, you know.”  
“Well, I can’t complain. I have a little girl now; she is almost a day old.”  
“And I’ve read your adventures with that muggle detective of yours. He doesn’t happen to be a squib or something like that? There’s a bloke with that same last name in the Ministry of Magic, who's the reason I’ve been summoned here at such an ungodly hour.”  
“Yes, I thought it was strange that the head healer was crossing this hall at four in the morning. I presume you mean Mycroft Holmes? That’s Sherlock’s brother.”  
“Oh, so your detective is a squib then? He knows about you, and magic, no doubt.”  
“He’s a wizard.”  
“Ah, what a waste of those skills on muggle crime. I would bet a smart man like Harry Potter would like a man with that brain on his Auror team.”  
“Sherlock is complicated. Let’s say the muggle police officers get more pain than joy by working with him.”  
“But if you are here, you must be looking for your brother-in-law then? What did you guys use for the baby, a surrogate? Is your partner injured as well as his brother? I saw you barking orders to the trainee healers, you sure surprised them, you know, dressed like that and all.”

He was eyeing John’s muggle clothing with disapproval, and John couldn’t resist it. He didn’t even bother to contradict Roman that they, well, were not a couple. He wasn’t even sure at this point if that was even true.

“Oh, I forgot, got careless with the accident and all.”

He tapped his wand to his clothing, which morphed into his wine-coloured robes.

Roman eyed his clothing with approval, looking at John in a new light. God, he had forgotten the man was a vain git, and no doubt his comment about his appearance had sparked some need for retaliation. But the look was now forgotten, as he eyed him in his robes.

“Trevor modification! Expensive for everyday clothing, but really, it’s worth the galleons. So you are back? I didn’t know your partner was a wizard, but surely his family members are important, at least his brother is, as I tried to remind my wife when she was threatening to use magical bindings to bring me back to bed. Listen, if you want to come back to St. Mungo’s, you would be more than welcome here. Some of this young chaps rely too much on book knowledge. We need a man with instinct, and no doubt your experiences in the muggle world would make you ten times better than the healer you were before.”  
“Pretty darn good, that is.”

Roman chuckled again and moved them toward the lifts.

“So third floor? Your brother-in-law is in a private room, not in the ward.”

John thought about checking on Victor first, but he didn’t feel like explaining himself to Roman. Visiting his brother-in-law, then. They reached the third floor and walked into the _‘Serious poisoning’_ corridor, where, instead of opening the door to the central ward, Roman opened a side door to the left. The room was ample and well lit, but it still had that hospital feel, crisp and impersonal. Mycroft was sitting on the bed, sipping what looked like a very disgusting potion from a glass, at least that was what John could get from the look on his face. His suit looked wrinkled, and his tie was loose around his neck, but he looked otherwise unharmed. Alissa was holding his hand, her face had a couple of bruises, but John couldn’t see much more. She was apparently still angry at her husband.

“Mr Holmes! I don’t know if you remember me from the Minister’s House last year? I’m Roman Hudson, Head Healer here at St. Mungo’s. Is everything in order? I happened to catch your brother here” – he turned and looked at John – “who was arriving with another injured party. The healer in charge of your case wanted to ask how you got the poison in your body since he couldn’t find a bite on you.”

Mycroft had an amused look on his face, and Alissa looked politely interested at the turn in the conversation. Time to cover everything up, it seemed.

“Mr Hudson, it seems I got it from trying to resuscitate our other friend by muggle means.”  
“Ah, I see. Is that the friend that you brought in after?”  
“Yes, when the poison started its effect, Sherlock had a small vial and gave it to his brother, and his wife apparated him immediately here. We brought Victor later.”

Bugger, John forgot he was trying to keep Victor’s identity to himself.

“Victor?”  
“Trevor. He is a friend of the family.”

Mycroft gave his answer in the usual condescending tone John knew he reserved to woo political adversaries in the muggle world. Fake, but effective. Roman couldn’t contain his admiration. God, he was a fan, John could see before, but the look on his face. Priceless.

“Oh, John! The modifications you could get free of charge! I’m positively jealous now. I need to hire you now. Perhaps when he is better, you can introduce me. Do you want to check on him too?”

John knew there wasn’t a way out of it now, he wanted to do it in private, but evidently Roman wanted to see his celebrity patient now. Mycroft intervened before John could answer.

“I’m sure he would love to meet the Head Healer of St. Mungo’s. I was thinking, that, since you know how capable my brother is, you could discharge me into his hands. The hospital is top magical care, as we all know, but I’d be more comfortable in my bed.”

Roman looked concerned at this statement, fidgeting with the need of pleasing this particular patient and his knowledge of poison safety.

“Are you sure, Mr Holmes? Venomous Tentacula poisoning is a grave matter, as you know. You might want to stay here for a couple of days, to get all sorted out.”

“I assure you I trust my brother completely; he is a very resourceful man. You know he is also trained as a muggle doctor? I’m sure he can handle any possible complications, with the right potions. My younger brother is a Potions Master; I’m sure they can manage the rest at the manor house. You surely know we have a new addition to the family now, and I’d hate to be here in case she is discharged home earlier. They are staying with us until they have the proper modifications done to their flat in London.”

His voice remained oily, and he was sporting a fake Holmes smile now to add, turning on all his well-hidden charm. Alissa was frowning, but she let her husband do his ‘thing’. Evidently, she also wanted him to come home, even if she was mad at him. John decided it was best to play along and get Mycroft his discharge.

“We could go see how Victor is doing now, and after that, you can make your decision. I assure you, if I see anything going in the wrong direction I will bring him back, in fact, I know Mummy would make him come if he doesn’t want to. I’ll see to it that he finishes his potion and gets the next dose in time, and surely he would be better off in his own home?”

Now John was turning on his charm, and if he knew the man, after meeting Victor Trevor, he would do whatever John said. Roman seemed pleased with his idea, and after giving his excessively polite goodbyes to Mycroft and Alissa, they exited the room and the ward, and soon enough they were back in the lifts.

“Quite an interesting family you have, John. You’ve been holding out on your old friends! Your brother’s wife is beautiful; I didn’t catch her name.”  
“Alissa Holmes. My sister is the deputy head of the Auror office.”

Undoubtedly that wasn’t a secret, and John could still play the situation to his advantage.

“And she’s expecting a little bundle of joy? I’m sure your hands will be full, with your baby and hers. So good for them to have playmates from an early age. Your mother in law lives with them?”  
“No, Mummy and Daddy are just visiting. Sherlock’s birthday was yesterday, same as the baby’s now.”  
“Oh! And a shared birthday! No doubt he’s pleased.”  
“She scared us a little; we were not expecting her for a couple of weeks more.”  
“Now I see, she caught you both before finishing the preparations. It’s great that you have your brother’s house to stay while they finish the nursery in your flat.”

John just nodded, wondering how in hell they would manage to make 221B suitable for a baby. Well, to each day it's own. He was wondering how he could give Sherlock a head start on the ‘happy family’ charade his brother was orchestrating. 

They reached the first floor and the Dai Llewellyn ward soon enough. They opened the door, and they could see Victor in his bed, mercifully sitting up and drinking a blood-coloured potion. Sherlock was sitting beside him, a fond look on his face, holding his left hand. Victor was the only patient in the ward, and he beamed back at John, his lips and teeth stained with red. John moved to the right side of the bed.

“You gave us quite a scare, mate.”

“I believe I have to thank you for my life, Johnny. So good of you to realize it was blood loss and not poisoning.” He sighed. “I guess I wasn’t meant to die tonight. Go figure. My cells kept transfigurating into blood cells, trying to keep me alive against better judgement. I probably lost some bone or muscle in the deal. Nothing a modified Skele-Gro can’t sort out, apparently.”

John chuckled as he said back,

“Even your damned cells are bloody brilliant.”

He pulled the man into a hug, and Victor winced before hugging him back, placing his chin on his head. John pulled back before adding,

“Next time, warn me about the self-cleaning robes, you prick.”  
“Noted.”

Roman cleared his throat then, and John took advantage of it to get around the bed. He leaned next to Sherlock, kissing the man on the cheek as he whispered in his ear so that only he could hear,

“The plan is a happy family.”

Sherlock managed to look composed, and Victor kept sipping on his potion nonchalantly as if public displays of affection from the doctor to his detective were a thing of every day.

“Sherlock, Victor, this is an old friend of mine, Roman Hudson, who is now the Head Healer here at St. Mungo’s. We were checking on Mycroft before, who, if he gets his way, is getting a discharge to the manor house. Roman, this is my partner, Sherlock Holmes, and my good friend Victor Trevor.”

Sherlock rose from his chair, turning on his charm as well. His incredible memory was at play now, surely working everything John told him about the man and making his deductions.

“So pleased to finally meet you, Mr Hudson. John has told me all about your time together in hiding as muggles. Victor, this was the friend who escaped with John when they were eluding the Muggleborn Registry.”

Victor gave Roman a full bloodied smile now, and John thought the man would piss his pants.

“It was so good of you to look out for our Johnny in such difficult times. And such a prestigious position you hold now. John, darling, you never told us you had friends in such high places now!”

Roman was shaking Victor’s right hand now, more than was necessary.

“Mr Trevor, I’m honoured to meet the topmost achiever in transfiguration in this century.”  
“Oh, hush.”

Victor blushed, and John wondered if he was making it happen with his abilities.

“It’s always nice to be recognized. So sad we had to meet on such an unfortunate night, with the accident and all.”

John wasn’t sure how they could pass more than ten bites from a Venomous Tentacula as an accident, but he guessed that was their official story. Victor started making small talk in no time, and Roman looked enthralled, like a little girl meeting her first crush. Victor went as far as to invite him to Sherlock’s birthday dinner party, provided that he too could be discharged to John’s care. It seemed it was impossible to say no to the man, because soon enough Roman was signing Victor’s discharge papers, looking pleased with himself. Sherlock rose from his chair to join them as they went back to discharge Mycroft as well, walking next to his doctor and placing his hand on the small of John’s back.

“Mr Holmes, congratulations on your baby girl! Your brother was telling me how disappointed he would be if you brought her home before he got his discharge.”

The detective was still in full charm mode as he said,

“Sherlock, _please_. Yes, we are bringing the baby to my brother’s house until our home is ready for her. She came a little earlier, and we still haven’t baby-proofed the flat. They already have their nursery, had it before they even knew my sister was pregnant. And my mother would surely want to stay at the family home for a longer visit if the baby is out of the hospital.”  
“And a muggle hospital, no doubt. It wouldn’t be easy to find a surrogate in the magical community, so tightly woven, and you two have been living as muggles all this time.”  
“Yes, and since we didn’t know if our baby would inherit John’s magic, well, we thought it wasn’t worth the hassle bringing her here. She’s doing fine.”  
“Oh, so she’s John’s?”  
“She is _ours_. And she is perfect.”

John couldn’t tell now between Sherlock lying through his teeth at Roman or finally admitting things he had been thinking all along. He needed to sort things out between them. But he needed to get them out of the Hospital first.

They reached Mycroft’s room, and after being assured by everyone that he was doing the right thing, Roman Hudson signed the discharge papers and left them alone. Mycroft was still drinking his potion, looking a little subdued, before speaking.

“Now dear brother, the roles reversed. I suppose I need to thank you. Who would have thought that you would save me and I would be the one sitting wandless in a hospital bed?”  
“Wandless, _mon coeur_?”  
“Yes, darling, my wand suffered a little mishap. The damage it sustained is unfortunately beyond repair. Well, I’ve to talk to Miss Ollivander before the day is over. I’m sure she can make a suitable replacement for me.”

Sherlock remained silent, his hand still possessively placed on John’s back.

“Myc, try not to go against your wife’s wishes the next time. Because…” he paused and swallowed, as if the words were stuck in his throat, “your loss would break my heart.”

Alissa looked back at Sherlock, eyes bright and a smile on her face. Mycroft smirked back at Sherlock.

“So like you to throw my own words back at me, brother. I don’t need to remind you, if I hadn’t indulged in this little adventure, all of you would be dead by now.”

So John decided it was his turn now.

“And we thank you for that. The next time, don’t scare us anymore.”  
“Interesting, we’ve grown a long way, doctor, in just a couple of days. From stating earlier this week that you didn’t expect an invitation to my wedding to admitting you were scared of my imminent demise tonight.”  
“Well, yes, anything that affects Sherlock involves me. And I like your wife. If anything happens to you now, it will reflect badly on my healing abilities. Won’t want you dying on me, it would ruin my reputation.”

John was smirking at Mycroft now, and Sherlock was rubbing his finger in small circles against his back. Alissa just rolled her eyes at them.

“Well, so it seems I’m free to leave now. Please go and collect Victor, we can travel through the fireplace in the lobby straight into the house. I want to be out of here before the morning shift starts and more people get to see us.”

Alissa helped her husband out of bed, and she rearranged his tie for him. The man leaned on her for support, and John started to doubt if leaving St. Mungo’s today was such a good idea after all. To hell with it. They still had a lot of work to do, and Mycroft had proved invaluable to this case, by actually doing the legwork he so utterly despised.

Victor was waiting for them near the front desk, in a different set of robes, sipping his blood-coloured potion from a colourful goblet. A few female healers were fussing around him, asking him if he was alright and whether he wanted anything else.

“Mac! Great to see you up and about! Are we leaving now?”

The women looked disappointed, and John gave them a chastising look. One of them had the decency to look embarrassed. John herded their party to the fireplace and waited until only them remained before telling him.

“We need to talk.”

Sherlock just nodded and stepped into the greenish flames. John followed him quickly. One of Mycroft’s sitting rooms appeared in front of him. Sherry was fussing over Mycroft’s suit, dusting his trouser legs. Mummy was holding Victor in a tight embrace, before pulling off from him and slapping his arm.

“ _Don’t ever do that to me again Victor Alexander Trevor!_ If I ever have to tell your mother something horrible happened to you, I will personally pull you from the other side of the veil and slap you silly.”  
“Oh, oh, full name, you are in trouble Tum.”  
“ _I’m not even started with you, Siger Mycroft Holmes!_ How could you ever do that to your poor wife? She directly told you not to go, and you go around bothering her when she is in such a delicate state! I would have expected something like that from Sherlock, you know all the dreadful things he has put our dear John through, but you? _You should know better._ ”  
“Mummy, I’m right here.”  
“Yes, Sherlock, I wanted you to hear that as well. John isn’t going to be patient with you all his life, you know. And there’s the baby now. You should start acting like an adult.”  
“I don’t mind, Mummy. He wouldn’t be Sherlock Holmes if we weren’t staring at death in the face at least once in a while.”  
“Then you deserve a scolding as well, John Watson, you and Mycroft are supposed to be the reasonable ones here. I guess you are leaving all the thinking for the women in this family then.”

Mummy looked back at John, trying to glare at him, but John could see her heart wasn’t in it, especially after Sherlock claimed his spot beside him and placed his hand on his back, where it belonged.

“Well, this has been a delighting morning, but we need to go back to work. Moran isn’t going to catch himself. Pray, brother dear, where did you leave our prisoner?”  
“He’s currently at your wife’s office. But surely even you need some rest after this night. I don’t think your healer is going to let you waltz into the Ministry. You were a walking corpse for a few minutes today.”

Mycroft shot a daring look their way, which disappeared as soon as he saw the look his wife was giving him.

“I already texted Anthea, telling her you are not going in today, and any pressing matter she can bring here personally. You are done for the day, Mycroft Holmes.”

Mycroft sighed as he let his wife steer him out of the room. Victor gave a big yawn, before adding,

“I need to get some beauty sleep. This face needs rest to maintain its beautiful complexion.”

He kissed Mummy on both cheeks, and Sherry went after him, no doubt to prepare his guest room.

“Of with you boys now, rooms on the second floor.”

Mummy shoed them out of the sitting room. They walked the stairs side by side in silence, and John could see Sherlock hesitating. He opened his mouth once like he was about to say something, before closing it again. They reached the corridor and saw Sherry closing a door, no doubt to Victor’s room. She showed them to their rooms, Mycroft had placed them in adjoining suites, and Sherlock hovered in John’s door. John was tired, but he didn’t want to let Sherlock out of sight for a while.

“Stay?”

John said softly, almost a whisper. Sherlock finally relaxed.

“With you? Always.”

They entered the room; a four poster king sized bed with deep green curtains that looked so welcoming, John almost fell asleep just from looking at it. Sherlock frowned at the curtains, and with a flick of his wand, he changed the colour to scarlet.

“Thought you’d like this colour better.”  
“We need to talk Sherlock, but I’m hammered. I know you don’t usually sleep in the mornings, or at almost any time for that matter, but would you stay here with me? I’ll probably just take a nap.”  
“I’ve already told you. I’ll stay.”

He wasn’t surprised to see his duffel bag, the one he had brought to 221B, in one of the chairs by the small fireplace. Mycroft’s place was like a mansion. He went into the bathroom and changed into pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt, while he heard Sherlock open the door to the other room. He took his wand out of his robes and brought it with him into the bedroom. He found the lanky wizard on the left side of the bed, with the blue journal on his lap, and his laptop opened and plugged, already in pyjama bottoms with nothing on his top. Sherlock had placed his wand and wand holder on the night table. John could see the pale round scar were Mary had shot him. _How could he have been so blind?_ He loved the man who was now sharing a bed with him for so long; he couldn't even remember when he started his devotion to him. Maybe from the beginning. He took the right side of the bed, and placed his wand in a similar position as Sherlock’s was in the opposite side, he should get a holder now, he had one for his Browning for God’s sake, and slipped under the covers, pulling them from under Sherlock. The detective took his wand and motioned the curtains closed, darkening the room. The only light left was the glow of the laptop, and as he turned, he felt Sherlock scoot closer to him and place a hand on his shoulder. It took him only a couple of seconds to fall asleep.


	18. Settled, Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the two idiots finally talk about their feelings, and they finally find Moran's whereabouts. Also we get to know the baby's name and some serious parenting takes place.

When he woke up, Sherlock’s hand was still on his shoulder. Sherlock had showered and dressed, his curls wet, sticking a little to his forehead. He wondered how much he had slept. As always, the detective spoke before he needed to phrase his thoughts, completing them.

“It’s only around ten. You slept barely three hours John. We need to leave soon.”  
“Leave?”  
“We need to find Moran.”  
“I thought we already had Moran.”  
“Are you sleeping still? Don’t be an idiot John; we need his real body. I don’t know if he can get another body while this one is still alive, I think even Mycroft doesn’t know if that’s possible.”  
“I see that both Victor and you always refer to Mycroft when there’s something about the Dark Arts you don’t know.”  
“Yes, I hate to admit it, but he is the expert. I think he’s the best in Defence these days, and he is also a master dueller. But, as you could see yesterday, sometimes his spell work…”  
“Don’t tell me that was defence, Sherlock. I know defence when I see it. That was one of the darkest spells I’ve ever seen that isn’t an Unforgivable Curse.”  
“If somebody new that spell existed, it would probably be an Unforgivable Curse. My brother is also a master inventing new charms. Both him and Alissa. Promise you’ll never repeat any of this. I would hate if his overinflated head becomes even bigger than his fat arse.”

John felt sad at the last part of this conversation, only because he knew that deep down, Sherlock did love Mycroft as much as the other man loved him. It was just because of red-headed Slytherin boy, John couldn’t picture him as anyone else, that he lashed back at his brother all the time, without even realising why.

“Do we have time for breakfast at least?”  
“Well, yes. You become insufferable unless you have eaten first. Probably something to do with old age and blood sugar.”  
“Git.”  
“You need help getting out of bed too, old man?”

At this John threw a pillow at him, and Sherlock just laughed. God, the man was handsome. And annoying. But mostly handsome. They needed to talk. But he guessed catching Moran was the order of the day.

“I need to go visit my baby at the hospital.”  
“I’ll go with you. Do you want to that first?”  
“Actually, yes. I think I can stomach better whatever we have to face later with Moran if I see her. I’m taking a shower.”

He got into the bathroom fast, and undressed. He liked his showers scalding hot, almost painful. He adjusted the knobs and suddenly got the temperature just as he wanted it. The water pressure in this house was terrific, even better than the one on 221B, and he was always surprised that the old flat’s was as good. Oh, it was probably magic. He chuckled as he realised how much his life had changed in the past few days.

He heard the door opening, so the voice didn’t surprise him. What was Sherlock doing in here?

“John?”  
“Hmmm.”  
“Didn’t you want to talk earlier?”  
“Yes, but not while I’m showering Sherlock.”  
“Mmm, I see.”

John sighed.

“Well, I guess we can start talking now.”  
“You said you meant it.”  
“I do. I love you.”  
“But are you attracted to me?”  
“I’m sorry?”  
“You heard me.”

John opened the curtain, stark naked and dripping wet. Sherlock took him all in before handing him a towel from the rack. John dried himself a little before wrapping the towel around his waist.

“For such a smart man, you can be so dense sometimes.”  
“You constantly stated that you’re not gay.”  
“I just kissed a man yesterday to prove something to you.”  
“You kissed Victor. That hardly counts. Even plants and inanimate objects are attracted to Victor. Your very straight friend almost proposed this morning.”

John laughed at this, before pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“You identify yourself as gay, right?”  
“Obviously.”  
“Well, then, how many men have you dated?”  
“If you must know, just Victor.”  
“Do you see the fault in your logic now?”  
“No. Victor is a man, sometimes, he is very handsome, and everyone is attracted to him, even straight men. I wasn’t the exception. Neither are you. And you are an idiot; you are missing the point. The question is not if you are attracted to men in general, the question is if you are attracted to _me_. Love is complex. You could love me as a brother; you could love me as your best friend, you could even have romantic feelings for me and not be sexually attracted to my body. It is a valid question. You enjoy sex, a lot if I remember correctly. In the years we lived together, you never once attempted to be physically intimate with me. When someone implied we were a couple, you always adamantly declared that you were not gay. So, since I’ve proved now that you are attracted to some men at least…”

John grabbed the man by the shoulders and pulled him down, finally shutting him up with a kiss. It started hard, Sherlock’s hands going immediately to John’s bare back and his touch felt like being burned and electrocuted at the same time. Sherlock took control of the kiss, his tongue teasing John, coaxing him to open his mouth for him, which he did with pleasure. He could feel all the blood flow going down and felt a little underdressed because he was being snogged senseless by Sherlock Holmes and he was wearing nothing but a towel. John pulled away from the kiss, and almost started again when he saw Sherlock’s mouth was following his. The doctor kissed the man’s nose instead, and Sherlock whined.

“Sherlock. We need to set things straight before we go any further with this.”

Their foreheads were touching at that, and as he pulled farther off without releasing his grip on John’s back. Sherlock gave him a predatory gaze as if going further was the only thing in his mind at the moment.

“What do you want, Sherlock?”  
“Everything. I won’t settle for less.”  
“Are you sure? I’m still married to a woman, even if that’s officially over, at least on my side. I have a newborn baby, a premature baby, who will probably require all the attention and care I can give her when she gets discharged. I’m broken, complicated and I’m still not sure if I want to go back to the Magical World. You love all this, and you just got your wand back. We can still have what we had, and I won’t hold it against you. I would keep being your handler. But if we do this” - he signalled in between them - “and you change your mind, I’m not sure I would be able to take it.”  
“John, I’ve waited years for this. I want _all of you_. The baby? I wanted her as soon as she came into this world because she is a part of you. And it’s a blessing that she inherited your magic because that is something that I share with her that your former wife doesn’t, and that makes her a part of me too. Now that I have you, I’m not letting you go. You have seen me at my worst, and you love me, and I frankly don’t deserve it, but you make me want to be a better man.”  
“You are the best man I’ve ever known. You also happen to be a fantastic kisser.”  
“I’m good at many things.”

He said as he placed kisses on John’s neck and licked.

“Jack of all trades, you might call me.”

Then they heard a soft knock at the door. Sherlock didn’t stop, and John cursed.

“Shit, someone is knocking.”  
“Leave them be. It’s Sherry, anyway.”  
“We shouldn’t be rude to the house elves, Sherlock.”  
“So you’d rather I stopped?”  
“To be honest, no. But it probably means we’re needed somewhere.”

Sherlock sighed and let John go. John pulled on his pants and trousers, as Sherlock opened the door. Of course, the housekeeper was looking at them with an impatient frown.

“Master Sherlock sir, there are people here to see you. The Mistress’ boss is in the dining room. Master and Mistress are waiting for you and Dr Watson there.”  
“Thank you, Sherry. We will be joining them in a moment.”

She bowed and left, John already fully dressed by the minute she stepped out of the room. Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and kissed his knuckles.

“Well?”  
“Well, so that’s settled then. Let’s join Harry and the others and then we can visit our daughter at the hospital.”

John felt positively humbled by the chance Sherlock gave him. Merely a couple of days ago, he thought this was going to be their last adventure together. Now he was faced with the opportunity of a future with Sherlock, and he was not letting it go to waste. The look on Sherlock’s face as he uttered those last words was enough for him to realise he was exactly where he wanted to be. Sherlock didn’t let go of his hand, linking his fingers in John’s as they walked down the stairs.

Mycroft raised one eyebrow as John and Sherlock appeared through the threshold of the dining room hand in hand. Alissa suppressed a smile behind a napkin and Harry politely kept drinking his tea. Victor was missing in action. They sat down on the table, and Sherlock finally released his hand.

“John, Holmes, pleased to see you both. Dennis and Prewett made contact this morning. Apparently, they are hiding in a British Base in Afghanistan. My brother-in-law is preparing a portkey for them as we speak, so they can fully tell us their ordeal.”

John’s hand closed in a fist, as he started clenching and unclenching it until Sherlock grabbed said hand and placed it on his lap. He managed to relax a little before adding,

“Surely we know who that was meant for.”

Harry nodded somberly, before helping himself to some toast and honey. Apparently, with all the nuisance from yesterday, the man hadn’t sat down to a good meal. His clothes looked a little rumpled, and his hair, as always, was all over the place.

“Is your wife enjoying South Africa, Potter?”  
“I won’t ask how you know, but yes, she texted this morning. She is doing a piece on the South African Quidditch team for the Prophet. Albus and Lily are staying at The Burrow.”  
“So you are alone at your house I gather? Not used to being a lot by yourself for a long while now?”

Harry laughed and sipped his tea.

“No, not anymore. My mother would have me at The Burrow too, she gave me a piece of her mind this morning, but this one is too important. So I evaded her coddling, at least for today.”

John had vague memories of Percy’s jumpers and Christmas morning, the one time he stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas. Most of the time he spent Christmas at the Wood’s, his family.

“You met Luke at Hogwarts Harry?”  
“Yes, I remember him, a Hufflepuff through and through that guy. He looked a little like Oliver. How is your brother these days?”  
“Doing fine, saw him yesterday when he went uptown to meet my daughter. My sister lives with him now.”  
“He has an interesting rivalry with Ginny and her team. He was a great captain. I never saw you play, mate.”  
“I probably suck at Quidditch now.”  
“Maybe after all this is over we can have a friendly match at my place? There’s a nice place near Godric’s Hollow where we can play unseen. My kids love it.”  
“Consider it done, then, after all this is over.”

At that moment Victor appeared in the dining room, Sherry trailing after him.

“Surely it’s better if you stay in bed today, Master?”  
“Nonsense sweetie pie, I’ve lots of work to do. Can’t think what these people would do without me. Probably get themselves killed. Morning everyone!”  
“It’s noon, Tum.”  
“So brunch it is! I just saw Mummy and Daddy outside, tending the garden. Your roses are lovely Mac, too bad the weather here is terrible for them.”  
“Yes, Mummy loves to prune them, a little early for it, I think.”

Victor sat next to Harry and looked at Sherlock and John before smirking.

“I see all is well in paradise. Good for you, darlings.”  
“And good afternoon to you too, Vic.”

John smiled at Victor, who was now beaming his way.

“So, are we leaving soon?”  
“We will catch you both at the Ministry later. We are going to visit our baby at the hospital after this.”

Sherlock kept looking at John as he said this, a little doubt trickling over his careful mask. John just smiled at him, drinking his coffee.

“My wife is keeping me at home today. I hope you manage to handle this without requiring further assistance.”

Mycroft was looking at the morning Prophet, a frown on his face. John realised the man hated being away from work. His discomfort was visible, and he stiffened when he said home.

“It’s for the best, _mon coeur_. Anthea will be here with any pressing matter. I’ve to go and supervise _les enfants_.”  
“ _Nous ne sommes pas des enfants, ma chérie._ ”  
“ _Oui, vous êtes, mon lapin._ Don’t argue.”

Something about Sherlock’s perfect French, accent and all, went straight to John’s head. Well, his other head. He was sure he just witnessed some brotherly banter, but the whole thing sounded sexy enough for him.

“ _Tu devrais parler plus souvent en français, Miff._ John likes it.”

Of course, Victor noticed, John didn’t understand a word he said, but surely he saw his reaction to the French. He was sitting across him from the table, and now the doctor blushed.

“ _Ça suffit_ , Tum Tum.”  
“Noted.”  
“A car is waiting for you outside, brother. Call, and it will pick you up when you are done.”  
“I’ll text.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and continued browsing his newspaper.

“Well, see you all at the Ministry then. Thank you for the late breakfast, Holmes. Alissa.”

Harry nodded toward the rest of them and stepped into the fireplace, now alight with green flames.

“Then we are off too. Come along, John.”

John had barely managed to finish his breakfast. He stood up from the table, as Victor waved slowly at him, with a grin on his face that should have been illegal. The car was waiting for them at the door as promised, and they rode silently on the back of the vehicle, Sherlock grabbing John’s hand as soon as they sat comfortably in the car. One of the things John loved about being with Sherlock was that silence was rarely uncomfortable between them. They reached the hospital soon enough.

“Hello, Dr Watson.”

The nurse smiled at them.

“Your baby is doing great. She will be staying in the NICU the rest of the week, and if she is still doing fine, which I don’t doubt, we’ll move her to Intermediate Care on Sunday.”  
“That’s great news. You know, the baby’s mother...”  
“The surrogate? Yes, we already received the paperwork from Mr Holmes. You didn’t allow visitation rights, and rest assured only you with approved visitors can come near your daughter. Also, the milk bank from the hospital is providing your daughter with breast milk instead of formula, as requested. Do you want to add something?”  
“Well, as you surely already know this is my partner.”  
“Oh, so this is Mr Sherlock Holmes.”  
“I want to add that he has visitation rights on his own, and in case something happens to me, he is the other legal guardian of our daughter.”  
“I’ll make sure to add that to her file. Can you both sign her birth certificate? You left yesterday before the registrar arrived.”  
“Sure, but we’d like to see our daughter first if you don’t mind.”  
“You know the way. We had her moved to one of the first incubators, so you both can come in to visit her.”

They went to wash their hands and put their robes.

“Sherlock. You are sure of this?”  
“Obviously. This is what I want John.”  
“So, I want to run something by you then. What do you think of the name Olivia?”  
“Olivia? Naming her after your brother then.”  
“Yes, and after Victor too. Olivia Victoria Watson-Holmes.”  
“Sounds perfect. Perhaps a little long.”  
“Libby.”  
“Now you just ruined it, John. You name your daughter after a queen and choose a pedestrian nickname?”  
“Yes, all little girls deserve a pet name.”  
“Suit yourself.”  
“You can call her by her full name, by all means.”  
“I will call her Olivia.”

They entered the room, and John was thrilled to see that the feeding tube was also off. Aside from the halo and the pulse ox monitor, his baby was wire free. One of the nurses approached them.

“Go ahead, you can hold her now. It’s safe. Be careful with the monitor."

John went ahead and held his baby for the first time. Her eyes were open, with that grey that all newborns had most of the times, and she moved her little hands and feet.

“Hello, beautiful girl. Libby, darling, it's your daddy. And this” he turned and looked at Sherlock then “is your father.”

Sherlock took the baby from him.

“Hello there. John, she has your nose.”  
“Yes, poor little one.”  
“Don’t be stupid; your nose is perfect.”

The lights flickered, and the nurses started to look around, a little alarmed.

“She likes your voice, so she takes after me.”  
“She is _perfect._ ”

Sherlock handed the baby back to John with a sort of reverence that touched the doctor, moved him to the core. John held her a little longer before a nurse came around with a bottle. John grabbed it from her, and the baby drank her milk greedily. They watched her eat in silence, and Sherlock placed his arm around John’s waist. After the baby finished, John relocated her back to the incubator, and the lights flickered again.

“She doesn’t want us to leave, I think.”  
“Olivia will be home soon enough.”  
“God, and we haven’t even started with the flat.”  
“Don’t worry about that John.”  
“I guess I have to thank Mycroft again for his quick thinking about Mary. A bit presumptuous on our relationship status, though.”  
“The man could hope, at least for my sake.”

John smiled at Sherlock then and grabbed the man’s gloved hand in his own. After they left the NICU and signed all the paperwork, birth certificate included, Sherlock texted someone, no doubt asking for the car for them. John could get used to this softer side of the detective.

“We need to talk about magic, Sherlock.”  
“I’ve thought about what you said. I’m prepared to stay in the muggle world. But you need to give Olivia a choice. If she gets the letter, which I don’t doubt she will, she should be able to go to Hogwarts or any magical school of her liking.”  
“And you are sure about this too? You just got your wand back.”  
“I finally got you. I’d rather have you than this stick of wood. But I want the choice for Olivia.”  
“And she’ll get it when the moment comes. And Hogwarts. I’d rather have her as close to home as possible.”  
“Beauxbatons is an excellent school. And Durmstrang has its merits.”  
“Hogwarts, Sherlock. If she wants something else, she’ll probably tell us.”  
“If she has the Watson temper, she’ll surely tell us. But is our duty as parents that she at least is informed of her options. Ilvermorny exists too.”

Sherlock shivered when he said that.

“God, she is only two days old, and we’re already talking about schools. When did this happen to us?”  
“I believe it’s called parenthood, and it happened almost two days ago.”

John couldn’t believe he was sharing this with Sherlock Holmes. This meant something, and it was a massive step for a fledgeling relationship like theirs. They were out of the hospital and into the car in no time, and soon they were outside the visitor entrance to the Ministry. The phone box was still very cramped, but it felt some much better now that Sherlock wrapped against him in an embrace, his head peering over his shoulder as he dialled the numbers.

They passed a few of the aurors, who waved at them as they made their way into the crowded space. Alissa was waiting for them in her office, and Victor was playing with a portable device, which one, John didn’t really want to know.

“All the magic here really messes with my 3DS. I guess I’ll have to finish this one later. It keeps failing to save my progress.”  
“You can stop playing now, _mon ange_ , they are already here.”

The cooler was there, on a side table. John felt creeped out about the contents of said cooler, so he decided to ignore it.

“So, how do you plan to find Moran?”  
“We will use Legilimency, of course.”  
“And since Alissa is the best of us in that area unless you have a hidden talent we don’t know about Tiger, she is the one doing it.”  
“I’ll hold onto you; I want to see.”  
“Sure, _mon lapin_ , just grab my arm.”

As they opened the cooler, John turned away, ta very much, and Alissa pointed her wand at the contents. Sherlock grabbed her arm, muttering to himself. He was in a trance, but probably he and Alissa were still able to communicate. Victor kept running his hands through his hair and changing its length, colour and type. John was fascinated with the sudden changes, from red to blond, then back to red again, from curly to straight, from long to short, then back to blond again.

“Wow. Fantastic.”  
“Thanks, darling, you should see me when I’m trying.”  
“How long does it usually takes her?”  
“It depends on how skilled an Oclumens the other wizard is. I think only Mac and Harry Potter himself could match Alissa as a Legilimens. I’m not worried, but this is taking them a little longer than usual, especially since both Miff and Griz are tackling his brain at the same time.”  
“I wanted to talk to you. Baby is officially named now. Olivia Victoria Watson-Holmes.”  
“Beautiful name for a beautiful child. I take it you and Miff have sorted things out?”  
“Yes, we have.”  
“I’m thrilled for you both, Tiger. You both deserve it.”  
“I still have to arrange everything regarding my former wife, but if he wants me, he gets me for the long run.”  
“Oh, he wants you, trust me. He wants the whole nine yards with you, baby, retirement in the country, the deal.”  
“Retirement in the country?”  
“Ask him, you’ll see. Did you have godparents in mind for the baby?”  
“Not yet. I want to ask Oliver to be the godfather, but I’ll run it by Sherlock first.”  
“And godmother?”  
“I don’t know yet. I want someone magical because Libby is a magical baby, no doubt about it.”  
“Auntie?”  
“She will be like an unofficial grandma, so I was thinking of Alissa, maybe, I don’t know.”  
“I’m available. If you are considering Alissa, you know me better, and I’d be a great godmother, trust me on that. I’ll spoil your baby rotten.”  
“Would you do that? Be a godmother? Wouldn’t you prefer godfather?”  
“Mmmm, not really. I’m going to be William’s godfather. It would be nice to be someone’s godmother for a change.”  
“So be it. Sherlock will be thrilled, I think. It’s nice, and the baby has the name of both her godparents.”

Victor leapt to his feet and hugged John.

“Do you mean it?”  
“Of course I mean it. I’ve known you for just a couple of days, and you’ve saved my life more than once, you’ve proven you are a loyal and good friend. I already named her after you. Besides, Sherlock has known you for ages, and he still likes you, and that’s saying a lot coming from him. I let you call me awful nicknames and Johnny without punching your lights out. I think that says enough.”  
“You won’t regret it, Tiger. I’m going to be the best godmother on this planet.”  
“Don’t you think it’s taking them too long?”  
“Longer than usual, yes. In fact, longer than I’ve ever seen her do it. Moran is probably fighting them off.”

At that precise moment, both Alissa and Sherlock came out of it.

“This is going to be hard work, _mes amis._ ”  
“Did you find him?”  
“Oh yes, we did.”

Sherlock’s eyes were gleaming.

“We finally managed to trick him. We had to elaborate a new reality, where he succeeded in abducting Alissa and me. He resisted it at first, but after he was convinced it seemed he was going to bring her to his hiding place all along.”  
“So, where is he?”  
“Believe or not, he is back home, _mon ange_.”  
“America? Where the fuck is he hiding? Don’t tell me New York because I’ll murder him myself.”  
“Not your home, closer to mine.”  
“New Orleans?”  
“Texas. Close to the Mexican border.”  
“So are we going there?”  
“Yes, we are, _mon ange_. I’m going to talk to Percy about a Portkey right now. We’ll have to talk to Harry to arrange a team, and we need to contact MACUSA for permission. I’ll handle the details.”  
“God, we are never going to have Miff’s party, don’t we?”  
“Still as inappropriate as always.”

Victor blew a raspberry Sherlock’s way, and the detective seemed to want to murder him on the spot. John sighed.

“So America it is then.”


	19. Showdown in El Paso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bureaucracy and some nonsense before they manage to get to America. It will prove harder to get to Moran than they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some violence and blood in this chapter, sorry for the late update for anyone who has kept reading this.

Alissa started fidgeting with stuff on her desk before settling on her chair and staring at the wall.

“Look at you, so full of intent.” Victor chuckled from his chair.  
“I appreciate some silence, Vic.”  
“Oooh, Vic, are you mad at me, darling?”  
“No, just trying to concentrate. You are making it difficult, _mon ange_.”  
“That’s more like it. So I guess I’m going to see _Maman_ today?”  
“I’m joining you.”  
“No, no, Miff, _Maman_ is still angry at you. We want her to help, not throw us out of her office. You stay put. Really. I mean it.”

Sherlock waved his dismissal, looking at Alissa now to send his point through.

“I’m afraid Tum has a point. _Maman_ has an excellent memory, and things are a little fresh still in her mind.”  
“I was surrounded by idiots. It was not my fault.”  
“It still wasn’t fine with her. They were two of her best agents. And they’ve never been the same after. Honestly, the only reason you escaped prosecution from MACUSA was because you're family.”

John knew better than to ask for explanations. Clearly, Sherlock had done something horrible to some poor unsuspecting agents in America.

“Ok, so I think she knows we are coming. Be prepared with a shield charm just in case. Percy should be arriving in a couple of minutes.”

Just on cue, Percy Weasley appeared at the fireplace, removing ashes from his coat and carrying a common fountain pen.

“This was more difficult than before, Alissa, had to go to the Department of International Cooperation before setting this one. Are you sure you want to appear unannounced?”

He glanced at Sherlock before nodding to John and Victor.

“Sherlock is not coming with us. Just Victor and me this time.”  
“Good. If he was going with you, I would have to plead with you for footage of the hex your mum placed on him.”  
“Another time, maybe, Percy. She still hasn’t seen him since. How long until it activates?”

She extended her hand and received the pen. Victor jumped, touched his wand lazily to his robes and they changed to a beautiful yellow sundress, just as he morphed into Victoria Vertro. Her hair was perfectly styled, long, thick curls falling over her shoulders, the colour of sunshine, which matched her hair perfectly. With another touch to her shoes, they changed into a pair of yellow heels. As she touched the pen, the thing starts to glow. Soon enough, Percy, Sherlock, and John are alone in Alissa’s office.

“This used to be my brother’s office. It was always a mess. John, a pleasure to see you. _Sherly_.”

With that, he stepped into the fireplace and disappeared again. Sherlock started pacing the room, and John just decided to sit in the chair Victor vacated and watched his partner walk around. Sparks began shooting from his wand, so Sherlock removed the holder and gave it to John.

“All right?”  
“Mmmm.”

Alissa and Victoria appeared then, clutching the pen, worried look on their faces.

“ _Maman_ wants to see you. Now.”  
“This one still works?”

He grabbed the pen, and John motioned to give him his wand, which Sherlock refused.

“Keep it. You are not going with me.”

The pen glowed again, and Sherlock disappeared.

“So, it was horrible, what he did?”  
“Oh, yes. He _Obliviated_ two agents of MACUSA into their childhood.”

Alissa looked grim.

“Oh, God. Did they get their memory back?”  
“Some of it. Not all of it. _Maman_ was furious, she still is. She is granting permission only if Sherlock apologizes and something else. She didn’t say. It could be anything. My mother is a brilliant woman, she is the Head of Congress, but she can be a little wicked sometimes.”

They waited in silence; John worried sick about Sherlock’s possible fate in America. Then the man himself appeared, a smug look on his face.

“Unscathed. Well, I made a compromise. _Maman_ is coming to dinner, whenever we have it. Also, I’ll be working three cases for them, whenever they request them.”  
“I’m impressed you only got three cases. She got five out of Tum and me. Well, we didn’t have to apologise.”

Alissa shrugged, surely she expected something worse.

“Three cases and promised social interaction, Liss. And I had to give it a try at giving those fools their full memories back. Succeeded, obviously.”  
“Touché. My mother is a genius.”  
“Are we leaving soon?” Victor was back to being Victor, impeccably dressed in muggle clothes, green trousers and a black shirt.  
“Portkey was changed for El Paso by our dear _Maman_. It will take us there in two hours. Enough for you to decide with Potter which team you want to take.”  
“How many are we allowed to take?”  
“Ten. We can take fewer, but not more than that.”  
“Four of us, Harry and Gabrielle make six. Prewett and Creevey are still out of commission; I don’t want more people involved in this case than necessary. What do you think, _cher_?”  
“Six is enough.”  
“I’ll walk next door and tell Harry. He might want to add someone else.”

Alissa came back later with Harry and Gabrielle; both dressed in muggle clothing, jeans, and T-Shirts, with light jackets on. Well, muggle-like apparel in Harry’s case, his T-shirt had a _Weird Sister_ s logo on. Victor took one look at them and changed his outfit to jeans and a black T-shirt with sequins that spelt ‘I don’t bite’, with a blood red leather jacket. He took one look at John, seemed to find his choice of wardrobe acceptable, and raised his eyebrow at Sherlock.

“You are going to ruin your shoes, Miff.”

Sherlock huffed at him, extending the pen to the rest of the group. Everybody placed at least a finger on it, and soon enough John felt the familiar pull on his navel. He opened his eyes, to find himself in the middle of the desert, outside of the city of El Paso, Texas.

Alissa started circling, Sherlock close behind her.

“Here?”  
“It seems. But I don’t feel magic here.”  
“Neither do I.”  
“Right here.”

John summoned the rest of the group, as a hammer-shaped rock protruded from the dirt around it.

“You feel it?”  
“Yes. Someone used magic on this rock.”  
“So where is he?”  
“Underground.”  
“So how do we move this rock?”  
“We transfigure it into its original form. Allow me.”

Victor started working on the rock, with no results. He moved, shed his jacket, revealing pale muscled arms with freckles, he changed movements with his wand, then he started looking at Alissa, a question evident in his eyes. Alissa then looked at her boss and moved to grab Victor’s arm, as she began doing the loaning magic charm. Harry looked surprised at this but didn’t comment. She did a nonverbal spell anyway. Soon the rock started changing, but cuts appeared in Victor’s arms.

“Shit.”

Victor looked drained, and John stepped and started healing him before he uttered another word, the cuts closing just to reopen again and again. Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and loaned his magic to John, and that managed to close the wounds long enough so that Victor could concentrate in something other than the pain, and the rock continued to morph into a dark tunnel. Victor stepped into the darkness, and the foundation closed viciously behind him, leaving everyone else outside.

Alissa was panting, fear all over her face as she moved to grab the rock and touch it. Sherlock was angry, started pointing his wand and sending random spells at the boulder, accomplishing nothing. John stepped closer to the rock and began circling it, trying to remember Victor’s wand movements, which were useless without the words, anyway. Sherlock gave up and paced, Harry and Gabrielle were looking at the rest of them with astonished glares, and some reluctance, like the whole situation couldn’t be real. As John relentlessly continued to repeat Victor’s movements, the rock morphed again in his face, and the only thing he heard was Victor calling “Johnny!” from inside as he stepped in, and the foundation closed again.

He found Victor lying on the ground, bleeding from fresh cuts everywhere, hell, his arms were a sodding mess, and his jeans full of blood stains. John cursed and started healing him all over again. Most of the cuts closed, but the blood loss was enough so that Victor looked even paler than his usual complexion.

“You are starting to make a habit of losing blood on my watch. That won’t do, Vic.”  
“Do...don’t bother.”

He stuttered, trying to get up.

“They’ll open again. I need to open the door again.”  
“Why did it close on us?”  
“It only lets a certain amount of magic to pass. One of us, it seems, was too much.”  
“You called me.”

John was surprised that he registered the call, the pull was too much, a little like when he wanted to protect Sherlock, it spoke to his protective instinct.

“You are the best of us in healing, don’t I know that. Too much to ask for you to have a blood replenishing potion with you?”  
“No, but maybe our friendly neighbourhood potion master has one of those saved in one the multiple pockets of that coat.”  
“You finally figured up the thing is enchanted?”  
“Yep.”

He emphasized on the p, while he continued to work on Victor’s legs now. They started hearing movement more rooted in the tunnel, and Victor transfigured a rock into a big glass wall, effectively shielding them from whatever was dormant within. If getting in was proving to be a nightmare, John didn’t want to imagine what lay ahead.

“Ok, you need to keep healing me, and as soon as I open the door, do something foolish. Place a summoning charm on Griz.”  
“You are asking me to summon a pregnant woman with a summoning charm inside this sodding cave? Summoning charms don’t work on people!”  
“Have you ever tried it?”  
“No…”  
“They do. Trust me. It’s so funny. She is graceful; she won’t stumble. She is my only opportunity to open the door again without dying. Fuck, I don’t even know if I can open it again. Were you doing something when the thing opened?”  
“Mimicking your movements with my wand.”  
“Shit, that was the reason why it worked, probably. You are a natural with transfiguration, even if you didn’t know the words your intent was clear, and I was doing the same movements on the other side. Do you think any of the others will try it?”  
“I don’t know. I hope Sherlock noticed.”  
“Oh, he did, but he sucks at transfiguring stuff, not that I would tell that to his face. I hope Harry noticed. Or at least that they make Harry do it. Ok, here goes nothing.”

He went on his knees, which was as far as he could go up without collapsing. John continued to manically mutter healing spells against cuts that continued to open as soon as Victor started the familiar movements. The wall in front of them changed again, and John could see sunlight, different from the eerie light that reigned in the tunnel. As soon as outside was visible, John pointed his wand outside and yelled “Accio Alissa!”, and in those few seconds, all of Victor’s wounds opened again, and he cursed as the woman in question flew gracefully into the cave as the door closed behind her. He resumed the spells, frantically trying to close Victor’s bleeders.

“I’m taking off your jeans.”  
“My, my, and you didn’t even buy me dinner first.”

Alissa started her healing spells on the arms as John removed Victor’s jeans to reveal green boxer briefs with the word Go! in white letters on the front, the exclamation mark just over the outline of Victor’s crotch. John snickered at the unwholesome sight, before concentrating on a nasty wound a little too close to the femoral artery. Both his legs were filled with cuts, and John wondered how the man still remained conscious. Probably his cells were working magic again, transfiguring themselves into more blood as he kept losing it. They managed to close the wounds, just before Victor decided to kneel again.

“Griz, I need you again. Lend me your magic. Thanks for doing it in front of Harry, I mean it. I know you didn’t want more people to know about the spell.”  
“No trouble, _mon ange_. Hold on, for me?”

Victor looked drained, pale as a paper, eyes started to look a little sunken. John transfigured a rock into a glass and made the water charm, raising the glass to Victor’s lips.

“Drink this before you do it.”  
“Maybe I’ll start leaking water instead of blood.”  
“Don’t joke now, idiot.”  
“Sorry, can’t help it. I’m only conscious out of stubbornness.”  
“Well, remain stubborn for a while longer.”

Victor braced himself, opening his legs a little, still on his knees, and started the spell again. Alissa was loaning him her magic and John was healing him. The door opened, and Sherlock jumped in, without looking back. The door closed. He looked manic, and kneeled immediately next to Victor, holding John’s arm in a strong grip, kissing his head, while the other man continued to work on the cuts that kept opening.

“Don’t ever think of doing something like that again, John Watson. It was hideous to see Victor disappear into this forsaken place and then you decided to follow suit as if you two were alone in the whole wide world.”

John kept his eyes on Victor, but he could feel Sherlock’s death hold on his arm.

“He called me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock turned to look at his friend, who was laying on the floor under the ministrations of the other two.

“Yes, Victor, don’t ever do that again either. Both of us, or nothing.”

He opened his coat and extracted three vials of blood-red potion that he started pouring unceremoniously into Victor’s open mouth.

“Swallow it. Don’t let a drop fall.”  
“Ahhh, fond memories.”

He smirked back at Sherlock, his teeth stained red.

“Victor, if you want me to continue repairing your skin, you will refrain to use innuendo on my partner.”  
“Jealous Johnny, I was wondering when he was going to grace us with his presence again. Welcome back, old friend, I really missed you. Well, not, but still. I’d rather have jealous Miff aimed at me than bother the man who is currently keeping me alive. So I’ll shut up. For now, at least.”

He kneeled again, still in his underwear, jeans pooled around his ankles. John and Alissa were sweating.

“Liss, let me loan Victor my magic, and you can aid John in the healing process.”  
“Do you have any more potions?”

John’s wand arm was starting to cramp.

“Yes, today while you slept I decided to brew a whole cauldron. That and three other easy potions.”

John huffed, if he remembered correctly the blood replenishing potion was anything but easy to brew. Victor did it again, and Gabrielle jumped in, and they didn’t even waste time as she started healing him on the spot, so they could finally get Harry in.

“You look like hell, Trevor. Hell in green pants.”  
“Don’t I know it.”

He winked at Harry, as he finally rose to his feet while drinking his fifth blood replenishing vial. John decided that water was in order too, and pushed the glass again into his arm. One nasty cut in his arm refused to heal, no matter what they did to it, as well as one near his ankle that they’d missed because of his jeans. The doctor looked at them and transfigured two nearby rocks into bandages, proceeding to wrap them around the cuts. They couldn’t afford to lose more time.

“I’ll deal with those later.”  
“If we make it out of here.”

He finally pulled up his jeans, applying a cleaning charm that removed the dried blood partially.

“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine today, Victor Trevor.”

John rose from his position on the floor, and pulled Sherlock up, both of them rounding on Alissa, but she gracefully rose, looking just a little dishevelled with all the effort. Her eyes went purple, and she shivered.

“Gentlemen, our troubles have just started.”

Through the glass wall, John could see several people approaching from inside the tunnel.

“Should we hide?”

Gabrielle looked worried, apparently waiting for directions from Harry or Alissa.

“No, darling, we can see them, but they can’t see us. They only see a big chunk of rock.”  
“But they will know someone is here because the entrance would have changed.”  
“True, but maybe they expected the one who entered to die because of the curse of the door. If someone tried to enter alone, the poor bastard probably wouldn’t be telling any tales. I only made it because I’m fantastic.”  
“And so humble, my angel.”  
“Yes, that also.”

He started massaging his temples.

“All right?”

John moved to grab him in case he collapsed on them, and proceeded to give him more water. At that same moment, they could see the people approaching the wall. Men, most of them, armed with machine guns and other semiautomatic weapons. But something was wrong with them. Their bodies looked rotten, in different stages of decomposition. And in all of them, John could see the same grey eyes.

“Inferi?”

He turned to Sherlock, who was examining the people as they knocked on the wall, he moved so close to them that he was almost in contact with the glass. Three remained, and the rest of them went back into the tunnel.

“No. I think I seriously underestimated Moran’s prowess with this particular brand of dark magic. You can see the eyes?”  
“Yes. Moran’s eyes.”  
“So it seems. He can control more than one body, but he cannot infuse much of his living energy on them, so the decomposition process is not slowed down, like in the main body he inhabits. I doubt those bodies could perform magic. In fact, I told my brother that I assume he needs wizards’ bodies to perform magic with them. By the look of these bodies, he managed to decimate the rankings of one of the cartels that roam in the nearby Ciudad Juarez. They also supplied the weaponry. Which is unfortunate, we prepared for magic, not warfare.”  
“Does he know how to use them?”  
“Unfortunately, yes. Moran spent some of his years in muggle armies. Rose to an officer position.”  
“So basically you are saying we are facing God knows how many Morans inside this tunnel, who armed not with magic but guns?”  
“In simple words, yes.”

Victor was starting to look a little better. Harry was talking in a low voice with Alissa and Gabrielle, who looked worried.

“Do you think we should continue?”

Harry approached Sherlock and John.

“This is not my area of expertise. Magical duels, magical warfare, sure, but muggle weapons? Not something I have experience on. Seems a little barbaric, if I must say so.”  
“Well, I know my way around weapons. And that is not something we can attempt to fight just with magic. We need weapons of our own. And even if we have them, we need to be able to deflect their power so that it only affects them, so that nothing backfires on us.”  
“So we use transfiguration again. John, you can do it. You can transfigure something into a muggle weapon.”  
“Too dangerous, we would be exposed.”  
“Do you know if shield charms repel bullets?”  
“Never tried a shield charm on bullets. Could work, but I guess it would be better to transfigure something into actual shields. Or Kevlar. I don’t even know if that is possible. It wouldn’t work for this type of weapons, anyway.”  
“Focus, Captain. You know you can do this.”

Sherlock looked at him impatiently; apparently, he was more confident in his abilities than John himself.

“Can you keep the wall? Would it stand during an explosion?”  
“Won’t know until we try it. I can make it thicker.”

Victor glanced up, clearly satisfied with his handiwork.

“I think I can manage a grenade. I’ve never transfigured something as muggle as this. I don’t know if I can. Would you try it?”  
“No use. I wouldn’t recognize a grenade even if it bit me in the ass. I leave transfiguring weaponry in your capable hands.”  
“I need a hole in the wall, which you would close as soon as I throw the thing.”  
“Done.”  
“Thicker wall, now.”

Victor worked on the wall, the glass looking thicker than before every minute.

“Ok, here goes nothing.”

He closed his eyes, remembering his army training. Remembering the feel of a grenade in his hand, picturing a particular brand, the weight, the cold feel of the material. This spellwork would be inventing a form of transfiguring something into a weapon. He grabbed a rock and started moving his wand, muttering words, and soon enough it started changing. Everyone was looking at him now, transfixed, and Victor was beaming. After fifteen minutes of working on it, John was sure he had a fully functional L109A1 grenade in his hand.

“God Tiger, YOU ARE BRILLIANT! I could kiss you right now if I didn’t know Miff would curse me on the spot.”

Victor started jumping up and down, grabbing John’s arm. But the look on Sherlock’s face, smug, like he dared the rest of them to doubt John’s brilliance. That look alone almost melted John into a puddle. He squared his shoulders and straightened his posture.

“Victor. Hole.”  
“Aye, Captain. Everybody, back up to the walls. They might notice the hole and start shooting through it.”  
“Allow me, John. My arm is longer.”

Sherlock took the grenade from his hand, and John knew he didn’t need instructions activating it. The wall glass was a great idea. They could see through it so that Sherlock could aim the grenade as far from the wall as possible that would destroy Moran’s people, the Morans? John didn’t even know now, without causing that much damage to the wall.

“Wait, wait. Do you think we’ll need more than one?”  
“Yes. But we can start with this one. I believe we can take this group out, three of them, one is enough. Now, the rest of you, shield charms around the rest of the wall. Tum, as soon as you see me throw it, close the hole. Now.”

Victor opened the hole, Sherlock slithered his long arm inside and threw the grenade, Victor blocking the hole immediately, as soon as it touched the ground it exploded. They could see the fire through the glass, which only cracked a little. Three down, God knew how many more to go.


	20. Through Walls and Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their confrontation with Moran approaches, but they need to go through his security arrangements before they can finally bring the man to justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long time it took me to update this one, but I tell you the next one will be up tomorrow if you want to continue this one to the end. Just a couple more chapters and I finish with this madness. I solemly swear that I'll never post a WIP again in my life. Once again, no betas, no brit picking, English not my first language but I'm sincerely having a lot of fun. This chapter is short, but the next one is longer. Once again, so sorry.

“We need a plan now. If Moran didn’t already know we are here; I would say retreat and come back with backup.”

Harry looked nervous; he was not one used to not being in control, not used to surprises he couldn’t overcome with his magical training.

“And don’t forget my mother only authorised this mission today. We need to make haste and finish this once and for all. Moran must be in custody and Azkaban today.”

Alissa looked determined, never mind the army of undead people with machine guns they had to face before actually obtaining their target. 

“I understand, I do, Alissa, but we need a plan. We can’t afford unpreparedness this time.”

Harry and Alissa turned to look at John, Sherlock and Victor too. _Why is everyone looking at him for leadership now?_ He was with the _heads of the bloody Auror office_ for Merlin’s sake! But one look at Sherlock’s trusting gaze was the only thing he needed. His posture changed, parade rest, and he looked at the wall before him.

“Victor, can you move this wall with us?”

Victor looked at the wall, clearly following John’s line of thought.

“Yes. I think I can. Our personal barrier?”  
“Yes, exactly that, yes. We need something else. Do you carry those Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder things, Harry?”  
“I do.”

Harry grinned at him, glad to see the ball start rolling.

“Good. So this is what we are going to do.”

The plan turned out to be simple, and used more magic than muggle weaponry, keeping everyone involved. Powder through the hole in the wall, which will appear when summoned, stunners for the ones they could catch unprepared and a grenade to finish the whole thing off. Their foes were already deceased, so they didn’t need to worry about claiming their lives. Sadly, that ship sailed for them long ago, when they fell into Moran’s clutches. John did one grenade before enlisting Victor into the task of procuring more for the team. Gabrielle was in charge of moving the right side of the wall, while Victor handled the left. Harry and Alissa were on stunners; meanwhile, Sherlock looked transfixed at the Darkness Powder, surely thinking how he could improve the concoction before John chastised him and placed him in charge of throwing the damned thing.

They moved in sync, really a sight to behold, working in tandem like a well-oiled machine. They encountered at least 50 more people, and John felt for every one of the muggles that were snared by Moran to form his army of corpses.

Then, the group reached another wall. This was a big, black, stone wall, with writing that glowed.

“Victor. Take down our wall,” Sherlock whispered.

He started going around the wall, looking at the words, probing the stones with his wand, muttering incantations. He took three different potions from his coat and touched the wall with them at three different places. The wall glowed, the words rearranged themselves, showing another language, one that Sherlock understood because soon he was frowning.

“Victor, try transfiguring the wall into something else.”

Victor tried, nothing happened.

“Not working, Miff.”  
“I see.”

He walked around it, poked him more with his wand.

“The wall requires sacrifice.”

He said, barely audible, almost a whisper.

“I’ve seen a wall like this, so blood it is?” Harry said louder,

“No. I think this one doesn’t care about physical strength or anything like that. The man who made this wall was at his emotional limit. You can sacrifice either one of these: a cherished memory, a skill you have or a good idea. The wall will review your sacrifice and deem you worthy or not of passing. But after you state your sacrifice out loud, you will forget all about it; you would lose the ability or the idea. It’s morbid but brilliant. Makes sense to probe people, make them choose between sentiment and getting to him. The fact that it lets you choose shows more mercy than I expected from a man like Moran.”  
“You must remember, _mon lapin_ that Moran, after all is said and done is doing everything he does for love.”

Alissa said, undoubtedly thinking about what she could give the wall that would let her pass to the other side.

“Well, I’ll see you darlings on the other side. I better go first and make our wall on the other side of this one.”

Victor stood in front of the wall.

“Self-cleaning clothing,” he said.

The wall opened, and let him pass.

“I can’t believe he let the wall have that,” Alissa said.  
“He’s brilliant; he’ll get better ideas,” John said, confident in Victor’s skills. “I still resent those sodding self-cleaning robes; he could be dead right now.”  
“My turn.”

Harry stood in front of the wall.

“My seventeenth birthday party.”

The wall opened, Harry crossed it.

Gabrielle moved to the wall and said: “The time I kissed my best friend, Alissa.”

It opened. Sherlock rose an eyebrow Alissa’s way, and she smiled pleasantly at him.

“The second time I saw my beloved husband.”

Alissa told the wall, which opened, and Sherlock looked annoyed this time. John was next.

“The vows I exchanged with my wife?”

The wall didn’t move an inch. Not good enough then? He didn’t think he ever had a great idea, to begin with, and he didn’t want to lose a skill that might help him in the future. So a memory, it had to mean something, but he didn’t want to forfeit a special one, because, let’s face it, most of his best memories were things he had shared with Sherlock Holmes. But it had to be meaningful, because if not the wall wouldn’t let them pass.

“My bachelor party.”

The wall moved, and John stepped in. He felt something missing instantly. _What was the last thing he said?_ The others were behind their barrier, Victor humming. It seemed the ones who sacrificed memories, like John, were feeling worse for wear. And why was Sherlock taking so long?

They waited for what, at least it seemed like it to John, hours, well a long time indeed, before Sherlock finally appeared through the wall. He was rubbing his temples, but looking a lot better than John when he came from the wall, according to Victor.

“What did you give the wall?”  
“Idea, but of course you know I can’t remember what now.”  
“I thought you would give it a memory.”  
“Tried, but the wall found none of the ones I offered an acceptable one. I wasn’t about to relinquish any memories I shared with you, so I decided I’d give it an idea instead.”  
“Nobody gave a skill.”  
“People value their skills too much, even when some of them can qualify as meaningless. You don’t know when you are going to need a certain skill, so it would be the harder of the three to relinquish. I bet if any of us had offered a skill, even one we thought as menial or useless, the wall would have opened.”

Alissa, now standing next to John.

“So, if I’d offered my clarinet skills?”  
“Would have opened in a heartbeat, I guess.”  
“You should have offered that, I doubt you are any good at it.”  
“Thanks, _you are so supportive_ , love.”

Sherlock blushed a little at the term of endearment, never mind the sarcasm in John’s words.

“Well, you offered something far more valuable, I think you gave the wall more than it asked for.”  
“A memory of you and me, right?”  
“Yes, unfortunately.”  
“Well, at least you get to keep it.”  
“Indeed I will.”  
“Who knew you were such a romantic.”

The teasing tone was there, but Sherlock still blushed, nonetheless. John walked to Victor’s wall, and leaned, still feeling dizzy. No one told him forgetting something could be such a sickening experience. Victor and Sherlock did look better than the rest of them. The wall was shielding them from whatever crept into the darkness.

“What’s the next thing?” John asked Victor, who was leaning against his wall, his wand pointed at it.  
“Darkness, more cave, but not sure what could be next, after that wall.”  
“We should continue behind this wall,” Sherlock muttered, like talking to himself. 

Victor nodded, and they group arranged their positions again. Victor kept watching the hole in the wall, before coming to a full stop and removing the wall. It opened to a circular room with multiple doors. Sherlock smirked at Alissa, and she raised one eyebrow at him.

“It seems your husband has a fan.”

Alissa slapped the back of his head playfully. Harry just rolled his eyes.

“Again, been there, done that.”

Harry sighed.

“Your brother loves playing his little games, but I never knew someone outside the Ministry, other than some DA members, who knew the inner room of the Department of Mysteries. This feels wrong.”  
“Care to explain for the rest of us?”

John was patient most of the times, but this whole thing with traps and riddles was getting on his nerves. Sherlock started talking, eyes never leaving the doors.

“One of the first things Mycroft did after leaving Hogwarts was proposing a remodelling of the inside of the Department of Mysteries, which used to be a security nightmare. He was a junior official, barely out of Hogwarts, but he is one of the most brilliant minds in the Wizarding World, which I will deny saying if any of you repeat it. So basically he transformed it into a maze, a bloody dramatic thing with circles and moving doors which harbours every secret known to wizards in Great Britain.”

“Not even Hermione can walk through all the doors. In fact, not even the Unspeakables can. I had a nasty encounter with that room a long time ago. Not my fondest memory.”

Harry’s eyes looked a little glazed like he remembered painful things.

John remembered some snips of Hermione’s written account of Harry’s part in the Wizarding War, he thought there was something important about that particular memory that was terrible for Harry, but he couldn’t remember. Sherlock looked at the doors.

“There’s too many of us. Some alternate doors in the Department of Mysteries only let one or two people pass. I believe if we choose the correct door, we can all pass. We have to open all doors at once.”  
“Your brother would be proud, _mon lapin_. That is the solution to this particular _problème_.”  
“You knew?”  
“No. But I know him. And you.”

She kissed his cheek.

“There are ten doors here, and only six of us. Victor and me, we are the tallest here, so we open two doors at the same time. Obviously, you must all realise that we need to open all doors exactly at once, or consequences would be dire if this trap resembles in any kind my brother’s little playground. Do not hesitate in any way, act, leave the thinking to me, we open when I say so. Since I know I’m right; the correct path will visualise in front of one of you, so please, do take a step forward when you see it. That will allow the rest to follow.”  
“And that’s the Miff we all know and love. At least he didn’t call us all idiots. He implied it, but, hell, he's given us one of the nicest commands ever.”

Victor looked at the handles, and pointed his wand, checking for transfiguration or any other possible traps. Sherlock glared at him, and the man just shrugged.

“Had to, darling, I do trust you, but this man has already enchanted enough door handles for me to care about what you think.”

“In your own time, Victor, surely you seem to be enjoying this cave so much. Do continue your useless poking. Care to try them all?”

Sherlock continued to throw daggers his way. Victor placed himself in front of the two doors he checked and grabbed the handles. The rest of them caught a handle each and waited for Sherlock.

“Don’t release the handle until I say so. Open now.”

All of them opened, synchronised.

“Who sees something other than darkness?”  
“There’s a tunnel and light at the end of mine, Sherl.”

Gabrielle was staring at her door.

“All of you must perform latching spells on Gabrielle. Everyone, when I say so, release the handle, but don’t close your door. You might experience some motion sickness but walk to Gabrielle following your bindings to her. When you release the handle, Elle, take a step in.”

As soon as Sherlock gave the order and they released, the whole room started spinning, and doors began closing as they moved closer to Gabrielle. John noticed that their latching spells were all golden, all but Sherlock’s, who had a silvery latch on Gabrielle, very thin, almost non-perceptible. When John stepped after Sherlock through the door, he noticed that all the latches had vanished, but Sherlock kept his cord on. John saw, but the rest of them, including Gabrielle, seemed oblivious to the fact that Sherlock kept his bond to her. John moved to cover the latch from the rest of them, trusting his partner’s judgement blindly. It was too dark, but he could feel Sherlock’s quiet approval of his actions.

“Wands at the ready.”

Harry said from the rear.

When they reached the light, Gabrielle first, followed closely by John and Sherlock, the tunnel opened to a big chamber, in which they found three wizarding sentries, with wands, guarding a gruesome sight. Floating in some liquid, in something that looked eerily like a giant beaker of some variety, even though it was apparently magic and not something out of some sci-fi movie, was the lifeless body of Sebastian Moran. One of the sentries John recognised as Madame Delglove, Gabrielle’s mentor, who he remembered from the pensieve. At that precise moment of entry, Sherlock’s latch turned into a full body binding on Gabrielle, silver ropes appearing from everywhere, as John shielded them both from the starting battle, the first curses rebounding from his charm like rogue bullets.


	21. Broken Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown, and Sherlock gets to show off his skills as a potion master. Some truths are revealed and finally things seem to be brighter for one John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, late update again! Thanks to everyone who is still reading and just to tell you guys the outline for the last chapters is already done, so three chapters more to go! (I won't update the count until they are done, though).

Harry, Alissa, and Victor stepped to the sides and started duelling the two other sentries, Victor focusing on one and Harry shielding Alissa while they both duelled the one in the middle. Sherlock and John focused on Madame Delglove, who kept shooting killing curses to them, while John deflected them, Sherlock tried to curse her but kept missing his target. In a silent exchange, just a glance, they switched, and John started sending while Sherlock shielded both of them, still, John couldn’t land a single blow on her. Neither could the others.

“There is something blocking… “

Again, Sherlock looked at John, and they switched.

“ _Accio bracelet_.”

Nothing.

“The bracelets. They are blocking our spells.”  
“Time to fight like muggles!”

Victor yelled as he continued blocking the curses, but started walking towards his opponent, who tried to curse him but couldn’t stop him from coming forward. Sherlock and Alissa began to do the same, John and Harry shielding them. As soon as they got close, Sherlock kicked Madame Delglove on the knees, grabbed her arm and took the bracelet, as she struggled not to lose her wand and tried to fight him off. As soon as he got it, he used the same silver ropes, the spell finally touching her. Soon, all three opponents were bound and on the floor.

“Charmed bracelets with shield charms. My brothers sell hats like this on the store, not a deflective as this things, though.”

Harry looked at the bracelet, inspecting the material.

“We could use something like this for the Aurors. We tried the hats, but they only have like two or three good deflects on them, so the expense was more than the worth.”

Sherlock was now facing Moran in his suspended state.

“His spell. It’s not a charm, but a potion. Frankly, this is almost disappointing.”

He syphoned some of it and pulled a folding table, a cauldron and even some wood out of his coat.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t see you have an illegal charm on that coat of yours, Holmes.”  
“Since I didn’t charm it myself, I think it would be difficult to prosecute me.”  
“Well, I didn’t see anything anyway. I don’t want to arrest my Deputy Chief.”  
“Hey! I could have been me, you know.”  
“Nah, I know you excel in Transfiguration, and you are not a sloth in Charms either, but I have a hunch…”

John took advantage of the discussion to stand near Sherlock, amazed at how his partner was separating the potion into each of its components.

“You can treat any potion, any potion whatsoever, like a poison, and by separating it into its components, you can make a counter-potion or an antidote.”  
“Golpalott’s Third Law.”  
“Yes, John, exactly. But that is for antidotes, more like the First and Second laws. It applies to every potion. If you know what to look for.”  
“You can separate any potion into its components?”  
“Yes.”  
“Amazing.”

Soon the table was filled with all the ingredients, some of which looked very gruesome to John. After what seemed ages, Sherlock started mixing some of the elements on his cauldron, which he stirred by waving his wand and made some blue flames under it.

“What’s with the blue flames, love?”  
“Temperature controlled fire. Excellent for brewing potions.”  
“Not to be a buzz kill Miff, but is that thing going to be ready anytime soon?”  
“And that, Tum, is the reason you are mediocre at best when you try to make potions. You don’t have the patience for it. Potion making is an exact science, and it will not be rushed.”

They waited as the potion simmered, Alissa and Harry talking in low voices to each other. Victor tried to engage John in conversation, failing each time as John was mesmerised watching the potion change colours, the smoke changing patterns and Sherlock watching the variations and flicking his wand to stir the cauldron differently or lower the intensity of the flames. He grabbed some of the potion in a flask and stood next to the beaker-like contraption that held Moran’s body. He levitated himself to the top and placed three drops in the liquid. The effect was immediate. Moran’s body started stirring, and tiny blue orbs appeared in front of him, at least a hundred, all of them of different sizes. The bodies they had trapped in the silvery ropes stopped squirming, finally appearing dead, as three of the shiny orbs rose from their bodies and joined the rest in front of Moran, these three more significant than the rest of them. Sherlock released the ropes from Madame Delglove’s body.

“ _Paix à ton âme, ma tante_.”

Sherlock whispered reverently as he repositioned the body in a peaceful pose. Moran’s eyes opened, and John stared at the empty, vacant, grey eyes.

“Sherlock…”

John's eyes filled with terror.

“Yes, he is useless now. His soul is irreparably fragmented. He is the equivalent of an empty husk, like a man who received a Dementor’s kiss.”  
“Let’s try to remove the whole thing from here. Think our portkey will work?”  
“I need to send a message to my mother and it will.”

Soon Alissa’s Patronus was flying out of the cave, and in a few minutes, the portkey started glistening again. Harry and Alissa touched the beaker as the rest of them motioned close to them, Victor hurling the still bound Gabrielle over his shoulder, getting a surprised look from John.

“What? The sooner we get out of this place, the sooner we get to plan Miff’s dinner party! Tomorrow sounds like a good idea, that way I might get back on set by the end of the week and Irene won’t get my tits on a platter.”

That made John laugh. He couldn’t believe this was finally over.

* * *

 

They were back in Alissa’s office in a blink of an eye, Moran’s beaker taking almost all the available space.

“I think your husband might want to take a look at him. Maybe he can even bring him back to pay for his crimes.”  
“I wouldn’t count on it, cher. I think mon lapin is correct, and there’s nothing to be done. However, if there’s anything that can be done, Mycroft would know it. We’ll leave him here for him to sort when he comes back to work.”  
“Mycroft, uh? Poor man, you are still mad. Knowing him, though, he might be coming back to work tomorrow if you let him. Holmes, a word in my office, please? Before you leave.”

Sherlock looked surprised but followed Harry carefully out of Alissa’s office. Victor found his Nintendo, abandoned on a chair, and started playing as John continued to stare at the little orbs who floated freely in front of Moran. Alissa was silently working on Gabrielle, who looked startled after a couple of waves from her wand. Her friend smiled at her and released her, and they exchanged a few words in French, whispering among themselves. Gabrielle started crying, and her friend held her, kissing her hair repeatedly. She turned to John and Victor.

“I’m so sorry.”  
“Nonsense cutie pie, you can’t blame yourself for an Imperius curse! He was a mighty wizard indeed, and he took advantage of your broken heart. You just discovered your mentor murdered; surely you were distraught. He might never have got to you in another moment.”  
“Her body?”  
“Being recovered as we speak, _ma bichette_. Maman is taking care of everything. She will see Madame Delglove’s real body delivered to her family.”  
“That would be me, then, _chérie_.”  
“Pardon?”  
“She wanted us to keep it hidden, because of my work and her family. But we had been together for five years now. I wanted to tell you, but…”  
“I understand. You respected your partner’s wishes. I’ll send word to my mother immediately. Will I see you tomorrow for dinner? Or you would rather mourn your partner with a clear mind, now that the curse lifted.”  
“I feel like I’ve been mourning her and will be mourning her my whole life now. I need to talk to Fleur.”

She walked to the fireplace and took some powder from the mantel place.

“Shell cottage!”

She sounded broken as she walked into the green flames.

* * *

 

Sherlock was back after a few more minutes, without Harry.

“Potter and his wife will be attending tomorrow’s dinner party.”

He said it to no one in particular, acknowledging for the first time that a dinner party was indeed occurring. He had a weird look on his face, which probably only the people currently in the room and his brother would have recognised under his usual mask.

“We should go visit Libby at the Hospital.”  
“Can I come with?”  
“Sure, you need to get to know your goddaughter.”

Victor threw a positively smug smirk Alissa’s way and strutted to the fireplace. Alissa just shook her head.

“I’m going to be her favourite aunt; you’ll see _mon ange_.”  
“It that a challenge? Bring it on sister!”  
“You’ll have to fight Harry on that too, you know. See you later. I’ll check on your husband first. I need to change my clothes. I smell like dirt and death.”  
“So that’s what’s got Miff with his panties in a twist. He is aroused, probably.”

Sherlock ignored Victor’s comment and walked into the flames first, his deep baritone voice enunciating.

“Holmes Manor.”

They arrived at the fireplace in the library, and soon Sherry was brushing ash out of their robes, fussing more with Victor, who was clearly a favourite of hers.

“Thanks, Sherry darling, please point me in the direction of a warm bath.”  
“Oi! We will leave without you if you take too long. Sherry, your master?”  
"Not home, Dr Watson."  
"On his head be it, I don't want to know what Alissa will say when she finds out. Victor, I meant it, we'll leave you behind if you take too long."  
“Johnny boy, don’t be a killjoy. I’m not formally meeting my goddaughter smelling like something died near me. And I think another blood replenishing potion might be a good idea; I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

Sherlock absentmindedly pulled another one from his coat and gave it to him, as he exited the room, turning to climb the stairs two at a time.

“Tag, you are it. I don’t envy you, Johnny boy, not when he is in a strop.”

John sighed as Victor chuckled, following his partner out of the room and up the stairs. The door to his room, their room now, was closed, and he opened it and entered quietly. The door to the ensuite was open, and Sherlock was removing his clothing, a vacant look on his face.

“What is it, love?”  
“Nothing.”  
“It’s not ‘nothing’, you’ve been in a dark place since Harry talked with you. So?”  
“Not important. I sorted things with Potter. Nothing that you should be worried about.”  
“And your mood?”  
“It would improve if you shower with me.”  
“Well, for the sake of improvement...”

John thought all first times with a new partner were supposed to feel a little awkward, but he and Sherlock just seemed to be made for each other. No words were needed, as they both explored each other, taking their time, washing away years of uncertainty. After they got their release and finally scrubbed each other clean, he could feel Sherlock’s mood improving; he seemed happy with whatever ‘sorting’ he made with Harry in his office. They got dressed and met Victoria in the hallway, as she was exiting her room. She was wearing a beautiful pink dress and pink heels, with a checkered pink coat.

“You look like one of those custom made Puffskeins.”  
“Thanks, Miff, you look dashing yourself. Another coat?”  
“Yes, Sherry took the other one.”

As they arrived at the hospital, and as John placed Olivia in Victoria’s arms for the first time, he could see the look of wonder on her face, and he could swear her eyes were a little watery. Sherlock was now beaming at them from the window, as a nurse approached him and told him he could join them.

“The nurse was informing me if her evolution continues to be the same we might be taking our daughter home next week. They are doing observation now; she is definitely yours John, a true warrior.”

Victoria kissed her goddaughter on the forehead and John took a picture with his mobile. Finally, things started to look good for him; he had a future and a big extended family for his daughter. He and Sherlock still needed to sort things out, and he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue his life as a muggle or join the magical community with his daughter and partner. The nurse told them visiting hours were almost over, and Sherlock used his full charm mode to negotiate twenty more minutes. John practically had to wrestle his daughter out of Victoria’s arms, and the lights flickered as they said their goodbyes, causing Victoria to go back to the cradle and whisper things to the baby, which seemed to work.

“That girl is going to need a good female role model growing around with the likes of you as her parents.”  
“So, glad we got Alissa then?”  
“You kill me, Johnny boy.”


	22. Two of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations for the birthday party begin. John's final gift is revealed and Victor lends a "hand".

He didn’t realise how tired he was until he reached the manor, Sherlock with a hand on the small of his back and Victoria’s voice as she talked to Sherry seemed so far away.

“You are exhausted. Let’s get you to bed.”  
  
He allowed himself to be guided by his partner and soon enough they were again in their room. He did his bedtime routine in automatic, watching as Sherlock did the same beside him, both wholly used to being around each other as if they had done this over and over and nothing had ever changed between them. John really must have done something right before, to deserve something like this, something that was perfect. When he finally reached the bed, it was to the sense of a warm body beside him, and that was pure bliss.

* * *

The next morning, he woke up to a very amorous and cuddly consulting detective who seemed to have demands on him. Who has him to deny Sherlock anything? They indulged, slow and gentle, not caring about morning breath or anything else at all. When they finally left the room, after a long, decadent shower, it was almost midday. John felt a little neglectful of his parental duties, and he was weighing the value of getting a good brunch before leaving for the hospital. Mycroft was nowhere to be seen, and John assumed the man had managed to evade his wife again and was back at work, either at the Ministry of Magic or at wherever the hell his office was in the muggle world.

Mummy Holmes was in the dining room, talking with Sherry over a list of guests and a menu. John remembered now, The family scheduled Sherlock’s birthday dinner party for tonight.

“Boys. Do you want to go over the menu for tonight with me?”

Sherlock snorted, and John wore an apologetic face. Mummy pursed her lips and kissed Sherlock on the cheek, catching John by the arm and doing the same thing.

“Sherry, be a dear and bring some breakfast for the boys. Alissa is back to work, and Mycroft needed to tend to some matters. If you don’t plan to help, I hope you won’t make things difficult.”

That said with a stare directed at her youngest son.

“We are going to visit Libby at the hospital.”  
“Oh! I so wish I could join you both! I want to meet the little thing.”

John felt a pang of guilt, of course, Mummy Holmes would want to meet their daughter. She had been nothing but kind to John and seemed delighted with the new status of their relationship. Victoria entered the room, wearing a beautiful blue dress that highlighted her eyes. Mmm. He thought Victoria favoured green eyes. She kissed John on the cheek and walked over to receive her kiss from Mummy and kissed Sherlock, who swatted her away, like a little kid hiding from a big sibling.

“Mummy, she is a beauty that one. Look at this!”

She pressed her phone to Mummy’s hands and started showing her the pictures, while Mummy cooed both a Victoria and at the baby pictures. Sherlock rolled his eyes as Sherry was trying to serve him a full English breakfast and he kept removing things from his plate.

“You can join us now if you want, Mummy.”

Beaming at John calling her Mummy, she then sighed.

“Unfortunately my dear someone has to get everything ready for tonight! Such short notice! Martha is coming over to help, but dear me, there’s a lot of people coming over and a lot of planning to do. My daughter had to wrap everything at the office, but she’ll be home soon enough. But I don’t want her to exert herself, you know, with the baby and all. A granddaughter and a grandson. It can’t get any better than this.”  
“Mummy, lots of people?”  
“Yes, Sherlock, don’t pout, you are a grown man. Your brother and sister are putting this little rendezvous, and you are going to enjoy it, so help me God. Don’t try to get out of it or I’ll resort to a summoning charm so strong that you would have to be out of the country to avoid it. You don’t want to float in unprepared to meet your guests.”  
“I’ll make sure that he stays nearby, Mummy, he won’t get his birthday presents if he tries to escape. I’m so sorry you can’t come with us to the hospital.”  
“I wanted to come too, but I’m going to need to buy some new clothes for the party.”  
“Vanity.”  
“Pot. Kettle.”  
“I tell you what, if you manage to find some time to visit I’ll add both your names to the authorised visitor list at the hospital and you can sneak for a little while, both of you together.”  
“Sounds like a date. Mummy, you can’t come shopping with me, can’t you?”  
“You know I can’t you evil thing. But I trust you can bring me back something suitable? Madam Malkin’s my dear, nothing less.”  
“Oh, Mummy!!! You’ll be wearing robes!!! I know you hate them, so I’m going to bring the most beautiful robes in the world so that even you won’t object to them, even if I have to do some modifications myself. I’ll buy Miff a good birthday present too.”  
“You already gave me a birthday present, and a great one, you both did.”

He touched his arm, where his wand was resting inside in its holster.

“Nonsense Miff, I told you, that was one of your presents. I need to pick up the other one today, so I was going to Diagon Alley anyway. And I had something made for my goddaughter also. It’s her birthday too.”  
“Victoria, remember I need you this afternoon, preferably before the party starts.”  
“Yes, yes, don’t get your knickers in a twist Johnny boy, I’ll be back early. Don’t you forget, I can’t imagine it would be easier to leave your baby girl now that you are not running after a murderer.”

Sherlock lifted one eyebrow, but John managed to keep his focus on his breakfast, ignoring the unspoken question.

“We will be back at least one hour before the party starts, so I hope you are not late.”

After their brunch, both Sherlock and John left the house in their muggle clothing, deciding to take a cab to the hospital. Sherlock’s ability to summon them out of thin air seemed like it had magic involved somehow.

“Do you use magic to summon the cabs?”  
“Don’t be ridiculous John.”

This said with one of his half smiles. Oh, yes, magic was involved. They made it to the hospital with no trouble and the hours went by so fast that they didn’t realise visiting hours were over long before they finally left. Parents got special dispensation if they wanted to stay the night, and John was feeling like a pretty shit parent for leaving his baby all these days and nights alone.

“It’s not your fault, besides she is getting a discharge tomorrow. And Father and Mummy are going to spend the night with her, Father while the party is going on and Mummy will take over from him. They were waiting for your approval to take over.”

John had missed an entire conversation between Sherlock and the head nurse. Apparently, their little girl was ready to join the rest of their family. John couldn’t help releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding and kiss his daughter’s forehead. Home, maybe soon they could both be going home to 221B. Back home, with Sherlock. He was waiting for the dream to be over, to wake up again in the suburbs with Mary. But it seemed he finally got some good coming his way.

“There is no way I can convince you to avoid this party?”  
“No, your mother is working hard to give you a birthday party, and we are going. That’s the end of it.”  
“Fine. We better be on our way then.”

One of the things he appreciated more about Sherlock was that silence with him was pleasant, John should have realised a long time ago, one of the clues you were with the right person. No uncomfortable silences. John kept going over and over about the things he didn’t do this past few days for Libby, feeling all the guilt as it caught up with him.

“Stop it, John.”  
“What?”  
“It was not your fault. We had to catch Moran before he wreaked havoc over the British Magical Community. Our daughter will not resent us days she won’t remember. Now, stop it.”  
“You are lucky I love you.”  
“I know.”

They arrived at the house soon after that, and Victor was waiting in the entrance foyer.

“Miff!!! Got you your birthday present, and Miss Malkin agreed to come right here to get your new robes adjusted for you. I bought several colours that I think might suit you for tonight, but you get the final decision on all. You must promise me, though, you have to choose at least one.”  
“I’m not spending the rest of the afternoon letting someone prick and prod me with wands and needles for your amusement Tum, birthday present or party notwithstanding.”  
“You have to. Besides, John is going to work with me on his present for you, and you are not going to ruin his surprise, so William, you will behave for once in your life and do what you are told.”

This last sentence delivered in a no-nonsense tone that made Sherlock quirk an eyebrow to Victor, probably unused to the man ever speaking to him like that. Sherry the house elf appeared in front of him and bowed, gesturing to the stairs, and Sherlock reluctantly followed.

“Now, Johnny, how can I be of use to you?”  
“Ah, yes, let’s go somewhere more private, shall we?”

Victor gave him a wink and a flirty grin and John couldn’t help but roll his eyes. They went to the room now shared by both him and Sherlock, and Victor looked around while John searched for the book. When he found it, he took off his shirt and vest, picking up his wand. Victor gave his chest a longing look. John laughed.

“Don’t go getting any ideas, taken, remember?”  
“Yes, yes, but a man can dream…”  
“I’m flattered, but I need you to focus. See this scar here?”  
“It’s enormous and warped; I’d probably have to be blind not to see it.”  
“Cheers. Well, I don’t want it to disappear, but it’s the only scar I have that’s worth working on, so…”  
“You don’t want that ugly thing off?”  
“Not really, no. It reminds me of coming back home and meeting Sherlock, so let’s say it has some sentimental value.”  
“And the kinky bastard loves it, I’m sure.”  
“He likes to lick it.”  
“And now I won’t be able to erase this from my mind. Thanks that would be something to remember on my bed during these lonely nights. But I have a solution to your dilemma; I don’t want Miff to lose one of his favourite licking spots. Allow me.”

He removed his robes; he was wearing dark trousers and a white shirt underneath, like the ones Sherlock favoured, with buttons straining. When he started unbuttoning his shirt, John began to get curious. What was he planning? His skin was pale and dusted with lots of freckles, especially on his arms and shoulders, also hundreds of little scars, scars everywhere.  
  
“What the hell Victor? What the fuck are those?”  
“Bites.”  
“Explain.”  
“I can assure you all of this were acquired in a consensual setting, very different from the ones both you and Sherlock have.”  
“Those are from Venomous Tentacula, right? Why didn’t I see them before, when Moran poisoned you? Or when you almost died in the cave?”

“Easy.”

Just like that, all the scars disappeared.

“Metamorphmagus, remember? I can make them all go away in a second. But, yes, it takes concentrating, not many people know I have these or the reason for them.”  
“You can’t make them go away, with the spell I’m going to try?”  
“Tried once, but probably since my body is a piece of transfiguration itself, the charm doesn’t work. But I don’t want you to worry about those. I wanted to do this.”

And just like that John was staring at himself.

“And just a little wand work and, yes, that’s better.”

Victor had adjusted his trousers to look exactly like the pair John was wearing right now.

“Why? Victor, what the hell?”  
“Is your vocabulary so limited Johnny boy? So, you can practice on your ugly ass scar and don’t lose its sentimental value or whatever it is you said before.”

He said it exactly in John’s voice, with the same intonation. If it weren’t for the Johnny boy no one would have noticed it was not Dr John Watson who was speaking.

“You are amazing. This is fucking creepy. I was not willing to use this charm the first time on Sherlock, why would you think I will use it on you? You are my friend, not a guinea pig.”  
“That’s the difference, you see, the worst thing that can happen is it gets bigger or something like that, or you change it into something else, and since it’s not even my real appearance, it doesn’t matter. You can practice on yourself.”  
“Are you sure about this? I don’t want to hurt you?”  
“Nonsense. And I can make it reappear once you get rid of it, so you have more than one shot at practising. It’s not the easiest spell, and let’s face it, you are wonderful, but you are still a little rusty and deserve the practice before you go and ruin more of Miff’s ivory skin.”  
“Stop fantasising about my partner.”  
“Should I switch to you then?”

John gave the finger to Victor, who just licked his lips the way John usually did subconsciously, which only made him laugh. He read the spell and the motions three times out loud and three times in his head, before standing in front of his mirror image. He started on the conjuring, and it took just one failed try before the scar began to fade.  
  
“Amazing.”  
“It is, isn’t it? I can’t properly do it myself, I suck at healing charms, but you did wonderfully. Again.”

And the scar appeared once more, and John attacked it, making it vanish smoothly this time.

“You are a natural Johnny. Pity you don’t know if you want to keep doing magic, losing you would be a blow to the magical community.”  
“Ta, mate. Now, make it appear again. I’m getting the hang of it.”

They worked on it for a while, until Sherlock barged into the room, talking to himself, or to John, but without looking up.

“I can’t believe I wasted all that time…”

And then he finally looked up. And blinked. Then continued blinking, without stopping. Victor finally caught up with him and started laughing, started laughing just like John that is. Which made John laugh too.

“I think we broke him.”  
“Yes, we did.”  
“Do you think he can guess…”

And they both started laughing again. Since Sherlock didn’t react, other than blinking, Victor decided to take pity on his friend, and with a wave of his wand fixed his trousers while changing again. He retrieved his shirt from the floor and did the buttons again before leaving the room, not before he whispered something in Sherlock’s ear that made him scowl and try to slap him on the back of the head. Victor, expecting something like that, just dodged the hit and laughed his way out of the room. As he closed the door, Sherlock’s eyes refocused on John, a somewhat predatory look in his eyes once more.

“Now, no time for that. We have to get ready to greet your guests downstairs.”  
“You mean my mother’s guests.”  
“Same thing. Besides, they are here for you.”  
“No, they are not. The only people that could be here for me are already staying in this house. No need to add numbers. This party is just a ridiculous opportunity for my brother to work his skills for whatever his next plan is.”  
“Still, it’s a party, and your mother worked hard, we are getting ready and going downstairs.”

Delivered in his best Captain Watson tone, and Sherlock stopped arguing. He opened the door of the room and left, probably to fetch the new dress robes Victor had bought for his birthday. John decided against a shower and decided that Victor’s scarlet robes were the best ones he had, so he was about to put them on when Sherlock came back with a set of dark blue robes on his hands.

“I know it’s late, but Happy Christmas John.”  
“Sherlock. You didn’t have to.”  
“But I did. Now, try them on.”

Sherlock was wearing black dress robes, velvety and luxurious, and you could see a bit of an aubergine shirt, which looked like John’s favourite, on the top. John decided on a white shirt before trying on the robes Sherlock brought for him. They fit perfectly, of course, tailored to the dot, and he felt flattered that his partner knew him enough to order for him clothing that looked so flattering.

“My, my Doctor Watson, you do clean up nice.”  
“Ta. You do too, you know.”

And that was the understatement of the century. Sherlock looked like one of those Hollywood big names in those robes, not that you could see wizarding robes in award ceremonies. Victor and him, or more likely Victoria and him, would make a lovely red carpet couple. He sighed, wishing somehow they would be a little more even in the looks department.

“Stop it.”

Sherlock was looking at him with intent, and yes, some fury.

“Being self-deprecating doesn’t suit you at all. Do try not to be obtuse, at least not today. I have to deal with all of Mycroft’s ghastly acquaintances, don’t make me bolt before we are even downstairs.”  
“Lead the way then, love.”  
“Love?”  
“Sorry, I will stop if you don’t like it.”  
“Don’t. It was good, that.”

Another enigmatic smile and a swish of robes, and his partner left the bedroom dramatically. Time to join the party then.


	23. Party and Mischief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's birthday party, with a few memorable guests and political shenanigans in the background.

The stairwell looked terrific, decorated with small fairies, frozen by one of the spells from Mycroft's elf staff, who seemed ecstatic to show their capabilities to their guests. Sherlock was just two steps ahead of him, his robes swishing like his Belstaff usually did, descending the stairs two at a time like the madman he was. John resisted the ingrained need of running after him, remembering that the party was not a case, Sherlock was not in danger, well, at least not the usual kind. He might get a scolding from his mother, brother or sister if they saw him running around the house. He saw a house elf that he didn't recognise but remembered Mycroft said there were three of them in the house.

Bloody hell, the man was posh. Having one house-elf in a family is a mark of status. John couldn't imagine what kind of level you needed to have three. He remembered that the first part of the party, before dinner, was taking place in the ballroom of the manor.

"Come along, John. I'm not facing these people alone."  
"Sherlock. The guests, love. Not 'people'."  
"I'm sure I won't know half of the people invited."  
"And I'm sure you will. Come on, love, try to enjoy yourself a bit. This might be our last late night party for a very long time, while Libby is still a baby."  
"I'd rather be with our child. In fact, let's remedy that, I'm sure Father could use the company..."  
"So help me God, Sherlock, you are going to this party, and you are going to at least pretend to have a good time."  
"I hope I'm at least getting a reward later. In bed."

John whispered in Sherlock's ear something utterly filthy which made the detective turn around and try to convince him to go back to their room.

"Only if you manage at least two hours, no, let's make them three. Your mother worked so hard."  
"Two and a half. And what you just said."  
"Deal. Now, let's get into that ballroom."

A sea of wizarding robes greeted them, and true to form, Sherlock's face morphed into his usual bored and condescending expression. John could see some people he knew, a beautiful older black woman with short natural hair who could only be Alissa's mother was talking animatedly with Kingsley Shackebolt. Percy and his wife Audrey sipped wine in a corner with Ron and Hermione Granger-Weasley, a woman who looked like an older version of Gabrielle, probably her older sister Fleur and a tall red-headed guy with scars on her face, her husband, Bill. John remembered him a little from school since he was the Head Boy the year John started in Hogwarts, he liked Charlie better, who was his Quidditch captain when he played. He thought about getting closer to greet them when he felt Sherlock point as his brother.

"Mycroft is up to something."

The man in question had a piercing stare placed on his mother-in-law and boss, and as it seemed that by the pure force of his will, they summoned him to form part of the conversation taking place. He could see both Hermione and Harry following Mycroft's movements with the corner of their eyes. The head of the Auror office, whose dress robes looked a lot like John's, only in a dark shade of green, was talking with a tall blond man with a long pointy face and a ponytail who was wearing dark robes like Sherlock. He looked concerned but was trying, and not succeeding, to keep a nonchalant demeanour. Some political game was currently developing in front of their eyes. Sherlock at least seemed amused by it.

"I told you. Mycroft is nothing but an opportunistic schemer."  
"Do you have an idea what is going on?"  
"I have a theory but need some more facts. We will know by the end of the night."

At that moment, someone grabbed Sherlock's arm and made him turn around.

"I thought you were imaginary!"  
"Excuse me? Luna. It is you."

Sherlock placed his hand on top of his childhood's friend one, her face filled with quiet joy and amusement, certainly what you would expect of someone like Luna Lovegood while seeing a long lost friend for the very first time in years.

"Of course it is me, you silly man. Look how tall you've grown. I always looked for you around and imagined you still looked the same! You see, no one explained to me why you never came back after the Christmas Holidays. I thought you were my imaginary friend for so long! I'm glad you are real though, but why didn't you send an owl? I was worried, even about imaginary you. Oh, here, meet my husband."

A tall, gingery and lanky man with spectacles, freckles and a bookish manner was getting a canape from one of the magical trays before his wife grabbed him and placed him in front of her new found friend.

"Sherlock Holmes, this is my husband, Rolf Scamander."  
"Sherlock Holmes? Luna dear! Your imaginary friend is indeed the famous muggle detective!"  
"See? I told you that Watson fellow was tapping into my brain! How can you explain him knowing my imaginary friend? Well, now we can, easily, because Sherlock was real darling! He was hiding among the muggles for some reason. Maybe that is why he never sent an owl."  
"My darling Luna, I must apologise, because I sincerely thought you didn't want to know about me. I also waited for an owl from your side."  
"But how could I send an owl if you were imaginary?"  
"You can see that I'm not now, Luna."

And with that, the detective took his friend's hand and placed it on his cheek, her smile could blind anyone. John, who watched from the sidelines the whole exchange, couldn't help but smile widely at the scene between his lover and his friend.

"Let me do the same kindness that you just did for me, allow me to introduce my partner, Dr John Watson."  
"Oh! The Watson fellow is a wizard! See Rolf? He could have used legilimency on me!"  
"But you didn't know that Luna dearest, pray Dr Watson, are you a skilled legilimens?"

John almost laughed at the silliness of the conversation, wondering how his partner, with his usual cutting manner and cold exterior, could have befriended one of the purest souls in the magical world, whose innocence and child-like wonder had not changed after a gruelling war and the long years of rebuilding after it.

"I will have to say I'm not, Mr Scamander. I'm a healer by trade. And it's John, please."  
"Rolf. I didn't think healers used the muggle 'Dr' for their titles? That one is news to me, I must say. Surely society is advancing."  
"Ah, no, they are still called Healer and the last name, Sherlock was referring to my muggle title."  
"Oh! So you are a muggle healer too! I've always wanted to know if their muggle animal healing could apply to some magical creatures. Always prepare yourself for the field, in case an emergency finds the wizard and the magical creature in need without a wand."  
"I have to confess I know little about veterinary medicine."  
"That is how they call it. Interesting."

They chatted a little more about muggles in general. Rolf, growing up in a pureblood family as well as Luna, had little experience with muggle behaviour and found anything about them fascinating. Rolf admitted that he saw the name Sherlock Holmes on a muggle newspaper and told Luna, without knowing the details. He read that the man was a detective, and for him, it was a funny bedtime story for the twins that a muggle detective shared a name with his wife's imaginary friend. He congratulated John on their little girl, while Luna and Sherlock continued to talk, apparently so engrossed with each other that his partner lost track of Mycroft's movements.

The man was talking to a flustered Hermione, who seemed comfortable enough, at least that was what John gathered from her body language. Harry kept looking at the pair of them from afar, prepared to intervene if something unbecoming happened. Of course, nothing of the such would occur in public. Mycroft was a sneaky one indeed. His wife was entertaining Ron, who seemed a little entranced by her beauty and looked like he understood half of what she was saying. Soon, Harry and his wife joined them, and Alissa spoke animatedly with Ginny instead. Harry kept giving her knowing grins; he seemed to know she was buying her husband time alone with Hermione for whatever his plans were. It seemed that whatever it was, it finished soon since Mycroft looked like a cat who got the cream and Hermione seemed equally satisfied.

"The Ministry. Those were the stakes." Sherlock whispered in his partner's ear. Apparently, Luna decided it was a good time to catch up with her other non-imaginary friends and Rolf followed along, with a lot of questions for Harry, who also knew a lot about muggles in general.  
"The Ministry?"  
"Kingsley's current term is rumoured to be his last."  
"Oh. I see it now. Mycroft wants to be Minister."  
"Au contraire, my naive partner, Mycroft doesn't want to be Minister. But he is the favourite for the post, especially for traditional wizarding families. Holmes might not be a magical surname, but the name Greengrass still carries might. And, compared to the rest of the pureblood families, the family can boast of inclusion, having muggleborns," he pointed at John, "immigrants, black people and even reformed criminals on their mist. Not even the Weasley family had all of those before. While still keeping the money and status that old wizarding families are proud of, that is."  
"So he is going to be Minister anyway?"  
"The other candidate is Hermione Granger-Weasley, war hero, muggleborn, close friend of the hero of the century, but still, unfortunately, not the favourite in the run."  
"Too bad. She would make a good Minister I think. A little too uptight for the likes of us, but still, a good thing for the magical community."  
"John, John. You see, but you do not observe. Look at Hermione right now."

The woman looked pleased, satisfied, she was clinging to her husband's arm, but if you paid further notice, you would realise that she was not there, per se.

"She looks like she just became Minister of Magic."  
"Because she just did John, Mycroft is going to back her campaign. She is going to run unopposed. With that, and Harry Potter as her successor as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, the woman will win in a landslide."  
"And Mycroft?"  
"He gets what he wants. More freedom to do as he pleases with his Unspeakables. He proves his loyalty by standing next to her, and she leaves him to his own devices, which is precisely what my brother wants. That, and his wife as Head of the Auror Office. A black American woman as head of one of the most critical departments in the Ministry, a woman descended from a family of talented witches, some of those dark, well 'greyish', magic practitioners? Never. But it seems he got what he wanted. And Harry backs Alissa as his replacement. He hired her in the Deputy post, with references from MACUSA, and he is impressed by her abilities as a Seer and a fighter. They have great chemistry and respect each other. More than Mycroft and Hermione, at least. Harry can temper his sister-in-law and Alissa can deal with her husband. It's a win-win situation."  
"You are brilliant."  
"You are aware you keep saying that out loud?"  
"I am, yes."  
"Good."

Sherlock didn't seem to John like a man for public displays of affection, but a possessive hand on his back was like a firework display with the crowd currently in attendance. John saw Victoria talking with Roman, the man was undoubtedly charmed but probably had no idea he was gaping at his idol on her female persona. A tall witch with long dark curly hair, blue eyes and a pasty complexion entered the room, a witch that he would recognise anywhere, mainly when she was arm in arm with his sister. Harry saw him and started pulling Clara towards John and Sherlock.

"Clara Prince."

Sherlock shook her hand, and Clara gave him a half-smile, nodding towards John.

"Sherlock Holmes! When you left the school, I finally became the best in our year. John."

The contempt in that little word could destroy bridges. Sherlock noticed and raised an eyebrow in Clara's direction.

"Whatever you blame John for Clara, stop. Everyone makes their own decisions. Including your wife, and since you seem to have forgiven her, and she has settled things with John, the logical step for you is to move on, if you can't forgive, at least refrain from making faces to your brother-in-law when you are attending his partner's birthday party."  
"And that is our cue to walk away, and my charming partner is having a bit of a strop today. Thanks for coming girls."

Sherlock was fuming; John could sense it when he was walking away from his sister and her wife, who still looked startled after Sherlock gave her a piece of his mind.

"What are you doing? That woman was evidently misjudging for something your sister did, blaming you when not everything is on your shoulders. For example, Harry cheating and her being an anal retentive workaholic don't lead back to you."  
"Exactly. But this is the first time I've seen them together in years, years, Sherlock. If they are going to give it a try, who am I to mess with it? And if that means moving them from the line of fire of my beloved partner, so be it, even if it means that said partner is going to make me sleep on the floor."

Sherlock scoffed at him, rolling his eyes, and they wandered, John merely trying to put some distance between Sherlock and Clara, until they bumped into Oliver, who was looking behind his back at where Victoria stood surrounded by Roman and a circle of fans who kept getting bigger by the second.

"Ollie. Glad you could make it. I imagined Mycroft invited you the minute I saw Clara and Harry arrive."  
"Ah, yes, Mr Holmes sent an owl with the invite yesterday. So they came together? Man, I hope everything was said and done there."  
"You know, some people don't cherish the experience. I guess she can now boast of having two brothers who will pick the pieces when they fall out of it."  
"Sherlock Holmes, what did I say? Sorry, Ollie, Sherlock had a run in with Clara now."  
"Let me guess, she still giving you the stink eye? Merlin's beard, I wish she grew up. And Harry too, for all that counts."

Sherlock seemed interested in Oliver's point of focus. John could see he kept looking a Victoria like he was trying to say something and changed his mind.

"See anything you like?"  
"Yes, I mean, no, quick question though? Why is a muggle actress at your birthday party wearing robes?"  
"A muggle actress?"  
"She was in one of those movies John made me watch a thousand times or more."  
"Ha! I thought you might have forgotten the Bond days. That 'muggle actress' is a witch, her name is Victoria Vertro, or she can also be a wizard, depending on her mood. He is not here right now, so I can introduce you to her. You might get to meet him later if he decides to come out. He is famous in the Wizarding World, you see."  
"Oh?"

Instead of surprising him, it seemed that only made Oliver more interested in Victoria. John tried to lock eyes with her, but his height and her mob of admirers made it an impossible task. Sherlock saw what he was trying to do, and he walked to the group of people and rudely extracted Victoria from her fans, who walked behind her and followed until he gave them another look. They probably thought he was going to curse them because they backed out, but kept observing Victoria from the sidelines, waiting for their next opportunity. The woman in question laughed at Sherlock, who was whispering something apparently funny in her ear.

"Oliver Wood, this is Victoria Vertro. She is Olivia's godmother and one of my closest friends. Victoria, this is Oliver, Olivia's godfather."


	24. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria and Oliver get to know each other, dancing and a sentimental toast from Mycroft. John gets to show the moves Sherlock taught him, well, at least he doesn't step on Sherlock's toes.

"He is a keeper, this one." She winked at Oliver when he blushed, but quickly composed himself; his smile directed to Victoria was brighter than a Lumos, "I used to watch you play; you are training your former team now, right?"  
"Ah, yes, I hope to put them in shape for the next season, we ended in the top half of the table this year, but I think we finally got the players we need for a championship. I've been the assistant coach these past few years, but the team finally changed owners, and with that, the head coach retired and let me take the reins."  
"Mmm, good luck with the Harpies, they have a great team."  
"I think this year could be our year; we have two new chasers that bring what the team was lacking."  
"Would love to see them in action."  
"I could get you to a training session, or tickets for a match if you wish."  
"My, a date already Mr Wood? You don't even know if I'm single. Which I am, not that you asked."

Oliver seemed to find everything Victoria said hilarious or fascinating, a pattern John had seen before in his multiple conquests. He felt strangely protective of them both, which made him feel torn. Sure, Oliver was a good man, but John had not seen him in ages, he didn't know if his behaviour with partners had deviated patterns from his usual chivalrous self. For all he knew, that man could be a Lotario now. And Victoria. Victoria was flirty, Victor was mischievous, but in the end, they were lonely. He told John that he would give his life for someone to kiss him like John did when he pretended it was Sherlock who he was kissing. He was also a brat and had kinks that one could classify as unsafe. John wasn't sure if introducing them had been a good idea, but since there was no turning time around, with all the time turners in the Ministry destroyed in the last war that is, he guessed he should let it go.

"As fascinating as this discussion about Quidditch is, it seems my brother, now done with his political scheme, requires our presence. John."  
"Spoilsport, no pun intended."  
"That was indeed not funny, Victoria. Oliver."

Sherlock's hand was still on John's back while they walked towards Mycroft, and John saw with the corner of his eye as Victoria grabbed Oliver's hand and moved them further away, before her group of admirers in waiting realised that the detective left their side. Mycroft gave Sherlock a pleased look, which only caused him to turn around, and he would have left the ballroom if John had not interlinked his arms with him. Alissa also gave him a 'don't you dare leave this room' look, so Sherlock had no other choice but to walk towards his brother, wearing his favourite fake smile for the benefit of the guests. His mother was beaming at both him and John, so this relieved the doctor of some of his guilt for torturing his partner in such a way. Sherry made a sound like bells ring around the ballroom, assuring that her beloved master got all the attention.

"Dear friends and family, welcome to our home. Let us rejoice in celebrating a new year in the life of my little brother, Sherlock, now joined by his partner, Healer John Watson. Today, we celebrate both his birthday and the arrival of their daughter Olivia Watson-Holmes. Tonight, we celebrate not one, but two members of our family. I'd like to propose a toast, for Sherlock and Olivia."

All of those in attendance raised their glasses, and a few people walked towards Sherlock and John to congratulate them, some of them were discreetly trying to get a good look at them, the elusive duo who preferred the company of muggles than living among their people. John shook hands with some people he knew and some he didn't, Sherlock standing right beside him and giving nods and fake smiles all around. Some people he greeted sincerely, like Luna and Rolf, who came back with an invitation to the Old Scamander place for them and their baby as soon as they could travel by magical means. After the long line of greetings, a string trio booked by Mycroft started playing, and couples began moving to the centre of the room, now cleared for dancing. Mycroft and Alissa opened the floor, as hosts were expected to, swaying gracefully like any well-bred couple with ages of refined education under their belts. Victoria and Oliver seemed like they were having the time of their lives, laughter interrupting some pretty creative moves, which Luna and Rolf appeared to be scoring instead of dancing themselves. Kingsley was dancing with Mummy Holmes, and John felt Sherlock almost vibrating beside him.

"Want to dance?"  
"Thought you would never ask."

Their movements were slower and intimate, not as methodical and poised as the hosts, but certainly not lacking technique, at least on Sherlock's side. John was barely avoiding stepping on his partner's toes, but he let him lead him across the ballroom. The detective looked ecstatic; John knew he knew how to dance, hell, he was the one who taught him how for his wedding. But he enjoyed it, it came naturally to him, and it seemed like right now, Sherlock was finally having some fun at his birthday party. John could see Alissa whispering in Mycroft's ear and smiling without missing a step.

The music changed to some traditional wizarding dances, kept in vogue by the pure-blood families and the posh end of Wizard Britain and Scotland. These were a little more difficult, and those dances didn't come up in his lessons with Sherlock. His partner smiled at him and led him on a simplified step, Victoria and Oliver showing off with one of the more complicated versions, a Scottish one John had seen only once before on a colleague's wedding from his St Mungo's days. Mycroft and Alissa kept on the original British steps, but John could see Mycroft frowning and mouthing the word 'exertion', and they turned around dancing just in time so that the doctor could catch Alissa mouthing 'non-sense' back at her husband. Some couples sat down when the traditional tunes started, but John noticed Hermione and Ron kept dancing, albeit in a moderate way like his and Sherlock's. Harry was now standing on the sidelines beaming proudly and talking with Rolf and Luna, while Ginny danced and laughed with a tall boy with pink hair, a pointy nose and warm coffee-coloured eyes.

John felt there was something familiar about him, he already knew who he was, or at least supposed he was Harry's godson, Teddy Lupin. He saw a little bit of his father and mother in him, and a lot of individuality, which was also good. Seeing him interact with Ginny he noticed some of his mannerisms were hers. So godfather had taken a lot of involvement in his godson's life. That is what they were supposed to do, at least. The man with the ponytail approached Harry again, and John had a vague sense of recognition once more.

"That would be your cousin or so. That is Draco Malfoy, possibly hounding Harry again on his son's parentage."  
"Oh? That is Malfoy? He looks a little weary; I could even say drained."  
"Yes. Draco is married to my cousin Astoria. Far too good for him, if I must say so. But unfortunately, her family on her mother's side has an old curse, and it manifested in her. I... I don't think she will live much longer. Her sister Daphne is a horrible person. She used to pull my hair when we were little. She hates Mycroft because he inherited the state even though their father was the one who carried the last name. But Mummy was older, and her father loved her dearly, so he didn't do traditional succession, and Grand-mère respected his wishes. He got the French Manor, but Daphne is still bitter, even though Astoria let her have all the inheritance. Merlin knows the Malfoy's have enough money."  
"Who knew you were such a gossip?"

Sherlock feigned offence but kept dancing, and soon they moved closer to were Victoria and Oliver were twirling, and Victoria took a moment to grab John.

"Mind if I dance with the birthday boy for a second? That way you can gossip freely with this one. I can see you looking around, seriously Tiger, how can your eyes stray so much when you have this"- she said poking Sherlock- "right in front of you?"  
"Stop it. I will let you loan my partner, for a while, mind you, just because you seem to have a bee in your bonnet."

Oliver was trying very hard and failing to contain his laughter, while Victoria feigned mock indignation to John's words while at the same time hauling Sherlock to the dance floor. They seemed to be doing some serious talking while at the same time doing the traditional more complicated versions of the steps, throwing words at each other as easily as they moved through the dance floor. Oliver followed them with his gaze, apparently mesmerised by his former dance companion. John took this as an opportunity to talk to his friend once more.

"So, you were having a good time. I forgot you were such a good dancer."  
"Yeah, and I didn't forget you were a crap one. Sherlock taught you how? You never seemed like you wanted to learn."  
"Well, it's uncomfortable. He gave me dance lessons for my wedding."  
"Ah. Ouch."  
"I have to apologise about it still, formally, that is."  
"You had no idea."  
"No idea. To self-deprecating for a long time."  
"You tend to do that John, and it's not a healthy habit. For relationships. And family."  
"I hear you now, trust me, I do. So. You seem to like her."  
"I would love to know her better. She is amazing."  
"Well, he is amazing too."  
"I think she is acting a little closed about him right now. Not once did she mention anything. I don't know. You think she might be feeling I would judge her or him?"  
"She doesn't know you as I do."

Oliver hummed at the confidence, even after all these years, their friendship seemed like it could now go on without suffering. His gaze kept wandering away from the conversation, to the two friends, former lovers really, that seemed to have stopped arguing and kept dancing. John figured out it was time to let that particular cat out of the bag.

"They used to date. Well, not Victoria and Sherlock. Victor and Sherlock."  
"Oh? Is that so?"

Said with a fake nonchalance that John was having none of.

"Hey, I'm not worried. They are close friends."  
"I don't even know her properly. I can't be 'worried', or 'jealous' or anything. It's just, well, you know how hard it is for me to click with people."  
"Because you are obsessed with Quidditch."  
"It's my passion. And it's nice to find someone who enjoys it, but that can also talk to me about different stuff."  
"Victor does love his Quidditch matches. You know, Victoria is an actress, and her schedule is all over the place."  
"Mine too. With the league, I don't have that much time for dating or meeting new people. I try not to date Quidditch players or trainers. You can see the dilemma there."  
"Ah, yes. 'Cause those are the only people you meet."  
"Exactly."

The song ended, and Sherlock and Victoria made their way to where John and Oliver were standing. Victoria was frowning, and Sherlock seemed bored.

"Oliver, it was a pleasure meeting you. I'm going outside for a smoke since I can't even imagine lighting one up inside this house without a hoard of house elves chasing me away."  
"Care for some company?"  
"You don't mind?"  
"I don't. Lead the way."

As they left, Sherlock's gaze followed them. He seemed to be analysing possible scenarios in his mind, deducing, organising his thoughts. John was fascinated at how much he knew the man by his side; he could predict what Sherlock was thinking about right now.

"Stop fretting, John."  
"I know. You are right, no reason to fret at all."  
"You know him better than me, but my observations are accurate. Most of the time."

Mummy seemed to have danced enough for the night. She moved towards her youngest son with a look of happiness on her face. She pulled Sherlock down for a kiss on his cheek, received under duress.

"My, I forgot how envigorating Wizarding dances could be! Maybe Father can learn some new steps! Heaven knows we've done enough line dancing for a lifetime."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as John laughed with his mother. For John, this whole thing was more than just being in good graces with his partner's mom. It was a family. His little girl, growing with an extended family, grandparents who besides line dancing did traditional dancing from the British and Scottish magical community. Aunts and uncles, and one who could be either when it suited them.

"But it is time for me to join Father at the hospital. Thank you, John, for the honour of taking care of dear Libby before you take her back home..."  
"Yes, Mummy, than you. You'd better go then; I think Father is going to be worried by now. He'd think you ran away with some wizard."  
"Oh, Sherlock! You silly thing, Father knows I only have eyes for him. But Victoria was supposed to go with me to the Hospital."  
"I'll send her in a minute. She is, well, she is strolling the gardens with a nice man."  
"Sherlock if you are joking at Victoria's expense I'm going to be so cross with you!"

Sherlock made a mock anger face at his mum while she tsked at him, making her way to the garden.

"Well, if she catches them snogging like teenagers it serves them well."  
"I don't think Victoria is quite ready for that. She said something about testing the waters first."  
"Oh? If you are talking about she being able to be whoever the fuck she likes, Oliver already knows."  
"You told him?"  
"I did."  
"And his reaction?"  
"I would have to say even more interested than before. But you are trying to distract me. What was that with you and your mum?"  
"What are you accusing me of John? Seriously, you are getting paranoid in your old age."  
"Oi! You are the one sleeping with an old man."  
"And enjoying every second. Do you think I finally fulfilled your requirements in regards to this gathering."

John squeezed his hand, looking directly into his partner's eyes, letting him know without words how much it pleased him that he had done this for him and the family. Sherlock smiled at him and uttered softly, "So? Can we leave?"  
"We can."  
"Good. Let's go upstairs and change. I have a surprise for you."  
"Surprise? For me? It's your birthday, Sherlock. I'm the one supposed to surprise you."  
"You do, just by standing beside me. That is the fact that will always keep surprising me."  
"Who knew? Sherlock Holmes, hopeless romantic."  
"You are ruining the moment John."

John laughed and pulled his partner out of the ballroom.


End file.
